Secrets
by Namine3419
Summary: Sparrow knew Reaver would one day return to Albion, she just didn't think it would be so soon.  As the pirate tries to take back his home, Sparrow is conflicted with the decision to either kill him, or spare him.
1. Bloodstone

**Secrets**

**By Lindsay R. Honosky**

**Chapter One: Bloodstone**

**Hello and thank you for reading my Fable fanfiction! I've been trying to get back into writing, and hopefully this story will be what drags me out of it (my writer's block). I don't own any of the characters, well, unless I make some OC's, and I'll warn you guys if there's any "naughty" scenes. Thank you so much for reading, and please review so I know to keep going!**

Shot one, two, three...and the Banshee rose, her chance to finish the ghostly figure delayed, if only for a moment. It wailed that ear-shattering war cry as she spewed more of her demonic daughters after her. Sparrow shuddered, that familiar feeling of dread slowly creeping up her throat. The balls of light quickly disappeared into the ground, only to re-earth again in the shape of tiny little girls made of darkness and hate. She could feel her Judge's Steel vibrating in her hand, as if calling out for their blood. One came up by her side, and for a moment, however brief, she felt a painge of guilt. Then the tiny abomination stabbed her thigh, and she answered the blow with a shot to the head. Her fourth shot; she needed to remember how many rounds she had left.

The shadow child's sisters cried furiously at her, watching one of their own be destroyed by this very corporeal woman. Two split around Sparrow's side, trying to encircle her, while the third stayed on a frontal attack, helping her mother distract the Hero as the other two snaked their way closer. A gasping, unearthly voice began to croon, "You still hear Rose's death cry when you try to sleep at night, don't you?"

Sparrow hated Banshees.

Before she knew what she was doing a searing heat began to climb up her arms, and soon she felt the familiar sensation of Inferno trying to escape from her palms. _Not yet, _she thought, biting her tongue, _wait 'til they're closer..._ The Banshee wailed again, the world growing foggier and her body growing weaker with each note. The children were almost on her now, their glowing red eyes staring at her hungrily. _Almost there, _the fire was visible now, the monsters growing wary, _just a few more seconds...NOW!_

Slamming a fist to the ground, she released her pent up Will and watched as the furious flames engulfed the shadow children. Their mother wailed, covered the emptiness that would have been her face, and sank low to the ground. Sparrow withdrew her pistol, aiming it for the creature's head. She had two shots left; they had to count. She pulled the hammer down, heard its familiar cock, and before she could fire the Banshee whispered, "Did you know that Rose didn't die right away from that shot? No, she watched you fall through that window, heard as your body thudded against the ground, and cried bitter tears before a final shot from Lucien ended her life."

"Shut up."

Bang!

The shot rang out, and as the fog disappated she could faintly hear its echo. However, even though the fog had disappeared, and its master along with it, Sparrow knew she would have to face it once again. There were always more Banshees to kill, always more bandits, trolls, hollow men; the fight never ended for her. Even after Lucien was long dead; the fight went on. Taking a deep breath, Sparrow holstered her weapon and headed back "home", relieved that she would finally get a decents day's pay.

As she trudged her way through the swamp, Sparrow couldn't help but think of the Snow Globe she'd bought off of Murgo all those years ago. To think that this was now Oakvale took her breath away, and the thought that she knew the person who caused its current state baffled her even more. She'd spent many a night wondering how anyone could be so selfish, then a rueful smile would cross her face as she remembered her choice in the Spire. Her choice to give that girl the seal, to spare her own youth and beauty...how had she justified that? To kill Lucien. It was all about killing Lucien, so she told herself it was a necessary evil. Now she wondered if it were just pure vanity. And her choice in the Spire, well, she was trying hard to make up for that, wasn't she? Jack was probably the most important person in her life, the only one who loved her for who she was, not what she had done. And Jack was a dog. Thereasa had told her that those who lost family to the Spire would have made the same choice she had, but she was a Hero; she was supposed to be above such selfishness. Hammer had said so herself, she remembered with a bitter taste in her mouth. And then she had gone, along with Garth, and that insufferable pirate Reaver. Why should she feel guilty for wanting her family back? After all, everyone else she knew had deserted her in one way or another, so why not wish for some happiness? Didn't she deserve it? Sparrow winced, not realising she had been clutching her fists so hard her nails began to dig into her palms.

Wraithmarsh always seemed to be growing every time she traveled through here. And perhaps it was, and would one day engulf more than half of Bloodstone. This should have worried her more, seeing since she lived their now, and having sold her other homes, it would be rather bothersome to find a new one. The darkness of the wood, the dank, sickening smell of the bog was almost unnoticeable to her now, what with all the bounty jobs that seemed to come out of this place. Oh how she wished she could just boarder off the road, but then no one would make it to Bloodstone, and the town would surely die without fresh blood every now-and-again. Not that she hadn't tried to find a more suitable way by boat, but many people couldn't pay for the voyage, and the sea was only slightly less dangerous as the road, so she had stopped in her campaign. Now she just simply ventured into the marsh whenever their were reports of a particularly bad Banshee, or a gigantic horde of Hollow Men, trying to make it safer, if only for a few days.

As she drew closer to where Oakvale once prospered, a chill ran down her spine as she realised she was passing the Shadow Court. The black, almost threatening building made her breath catch in her throat as it seemed to watch her walking down the road. Sparrow wondered sometimes if the reason why the three shadow figures were indeed merely shadows was due to her intervention inside the Snow globe. Then many more questions would pop into her mind, and she would get a headache, so she'd let her musings end there. She would sometimes wonder if she had seen the ghostly figure of Reaver inside that cursed Snow globe, wondering if she had seen him when he was, as he put it "weak" and "breakable". Imagining Reaver as "breakable" was almost as impossible as thinking he was "weak". As she glanced over to the Shadow Court one more time, the thought crossed her mind that perhaps he was still weak, seeing since he would probably never set his own two feet back inside that looming castle.

Sparrow began to ascend the hill that lead to the covered bridge; the only route out of Oakvale. That was where she'd left Jack, and that was where she found him. The dog sat up instantly, hopping on his feet to the left, then the right, so happy that his mistress had returned. A warm smile lit up her face as Sparrow leaned down to scratch behind his ears, "There's my good boy; did you miss me?"

He barked gaily, licking her face and wagging his tail. Of course he was happy to see her; he always was. She remembered how much he had cried when she ordered him to stay put, but she would never put Jack back in harm's way again. She wasn't strong enough to lose him like that again. If she could, she would leave him at the mansion, but the dog always seemed to find a way to follow her, so she had just given up trying. Jack rested her head on her thigh, sensing where she was wounded. Sparrow herself hadn't noticed it until now, but there was indeed a very deep gash in her thigh, and she cursed herself for not bringing any health potions. She stood, if a little shakily, and clapped her hands together, "Alright boy, let's go get paid!" He barked in reply, though there was concern lighting up in those big brown eyes. She patted his head soothingly, "I'll be fine, boy. Now let's hurry out of this marsh, unless you want me to smell like this forever."

The road leading into Bloodstone was still eerie, even frightening, but at least it was slightly more dry. Even though her boots were re-enforced with extra layers of leather, the water still sank in, making each step a comical squeak. It also made her easy to hear, should any bandits or slavers decide to surprise her; though she highly doubted they would. She was the famous hero, after all. Going through this way made her wonder what kind of buildings once stood here, between Oakvale and the coast. Thereasa had told her a story long ago about a bandit king known as Twinblade, who lived in very much the same place where his grave lay now. But bandits weren't able to build such structures as the stone walls who still remained stubbornly, even after centuries of corroding sea air wasting away their mortar and stone. Ivy climbed up around abandoned columns like a beggar reaching for food. Which, she figured, the ivy was trying to get as much sunlight as possible, so perhaps they were like hungry beggars.

Jack began to growl, and the familiar sound of wisps disappearing into the ground echoed all around her. She knew not which way they would come, only that they would, like always. She drew Judge's Steel, feeling slightly better that she had it in her hand, but she knew with her wound she would be at a disadvantage. Should she run? Or take her chances? She looked down at Jack, who was staring up at her as if to ask the same question. The sounds echoed again, and she decided they were indeed behind her. Biting her lip, Sparrow said, "Come on, boy. We can leave those for someone else." As she turned to leave she could faintly make out the glowing eyes of the shadow hordes, their anguished cries drifting across the fog as their feet dragged slowly in the mud.

She let out a sigh of relief as the great stone bridge came into view; she was getting closer. Of course, that would also mean going through the graveyard, which would mean another fight. This one was most definately unavoidable. Jack began to whine, his tail stuck firmly between his legs. She laughed a little to herself; you'd think the dog would be used to this place by now. She gave him a comforting pat, and for a moment he seemed to perk up, however as they drew closer to the graveyard she could see his hackles standing on end. Lights began to fall like snow as the wisps flew past their living bodies and dove into the ground. For a moment she wondered if it would be better just to pick off their heads with her pistol, then a Hollow Man formed behind her and her sword slashed into its ribcage, causing the corpse to explode into dust. Three more appeared to her left, and she quickly shot a few fireballs their way, watching as the hungry flare consumed dusty rags and papery skin. The faces of those who reanimated those bones floated upward, a hateful scorn forever plastered on their faces. Two more appeared, these were the Will users; they would be trouble. With her last bullet she took off the left one's head, hoping that would blind one of them, while the second began to slash wildly with it's two massive broadswords, coming closer by the second. She jumped to the side, her thigh wound screaming in protest as she righted herself, called upon her Will, and released a massive fireball at the Hollow Man, grateful that it was strong enough to take him down. Sparrow turned to look for the headless one, only to find Jack had ripped its legs out from under him, then continued to attack its arms, neck, and torso. Sparrow walked over slowly, feeling the hot blood running down her leg, and fired Inferno one more time, thankful that it was the last Hollow Man to fight...for now.

Jack seemed to calm down now, what with the dead ceasing to walk, and he barked playfully towards his mistress. Sparrow smiled, trying to ignore the pain and exhaustion that wracked her body. With a heavy sigh, she said, "Let's go home, boy."

The sea air was the first sign that they were close, the second was the distinct smell of people. Sparrow stood at the cliff's edge for a moment, admiring the majestic beauty of the sea. The sun was just now setting, painting the world in wonderfully calming reds and oranges, the sea a sparkling canvase of rubies and diamonds. Gulls flew above her, calling out to each other as they left the mainland for their tiny islands to the east. The sounds of the wind whispering around her ears, the gentleness of the waves crashing upon the shore, it was all so comforting that for a moment Sparrow wished she could linger here forever. Then Jack barked, waking her from her dream, and she realised he was hungry. Smiling, she pointed down the road, "Alright boy, you lead the way."

He bounded down the winding path, Bloodstone just around the corner, when Sparrow stopped suddenly. There was a new ship in the dock, and she meant that in both aspects. She had never seen this vessel before, and by the look of it, the seas hadn't either. The wood was still well polished, retaining its golden brown finish instead of looking an old, grimy green. Red and gold highlights accented the railing and windows, though the sails remained a pure white. A feeling of dread filled her, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Why should she feel like this about some ship? It was probably some posh, stuck-up noble from Bowerstone looking to find some poor idiot who'd go look inside some dark and spooky cave for them. She had a sinking feeling that they would assume _she_ would be said idiot. Sparrow shrugged; if they paid good enough maybe she just might.

Her boots clicked softly on the cobblestone streets, unnervingly noticable seeing since this was the time that most of the residents of Bloodstone were out drinking, among other things. In fact, the pure lack of people was starting to worry her, for not even the local whores stood at their usual "business" places. Scanning the Waterfront she found that the only ones out and about were the dockhands, and as she passed they muttered quiet whispers to themselves, pointing at her and shaking their heads. Curiousity gnawed at her like a bug-bite, but so did the wound in her thigh, and she turned left up the stairs to head for the mansion.

She felt herself feeling regretful for letting that guard go, then at least she'd have someone to tell her what was going on. Jack began to growl, sniffing the ground here and there as if trying to find a trail. This was a bad sign; he never did that unless there was something dangerous at the end of his search. Sparrow opened the gates to the mannor, her nerves taught and her mind exhausted. Whatever it was she'd make sure they'd get what they deserved for bothering her, especially when she had just come through the marsh.

The gravel walkway showed small signs that someone had recently walked up her porch. The prints were to big for a child or woman, so and they seemed to go this way and that, near the fountain and flower beds; well at least her intruder enjoyed such displays. She'd make sure they would enjoy her sword through their stomach too. As she took the first few steps, she made sure to duck underneath the window, just incase her intruder was watching from one. Of course, they probably would have already seen her by now if they had been watching, what with her entryway being the front gate. She kicked herself for being so stupid, but now wasn't the time to berate herself. She reached the deck, slowly reaching for the doorknob...It was locked.

A shot rang out through the night, and where one's head should have been to open the door was now a fist-sized hole. Smoke filed out of the opening, and Sparrow could faintly make out the sounds of an annoyed sigh. Then she heard the clicking of a hammer, followed closely by a familiar voice, "Good show, whoever you are. Not many are smart enough to avoid that little manuever."

"R-Reaver?" She couldn't hold the word back, and his reply was another shot, this one much lower and through the wall. It missed her ribcage by mere inches.

There was silence for a long time, Jack standing in the garden ready to attack, when Reaver called out, "I say, are you still alive out there? I'd be ever so cross if I'd missed you again."

_What do I do? _For a moment Sparrow panicked, to tired to think clearly. The sound of Jack barking woke her slightly, and she reached for her pistol. She wished she'd packed some extra bullets, but Reaver didn't know she was out, so did it really matter? _Of course it matters, _she mused, _He's the Hero of Skill with a loaded gun, and I'm Sparrow with an empty toy._

Sparrow heard the door unlock.

As the door opened, she could barely make out the faint gold accents of Reaver's cloak through the holes in the door. As quickly as she could she slammed her foot into the bottom of the door, causing it to ram against Reaver like a hammer. He gave a startled cry, and she heard as he fumbled back into the house. Faster than she thought possible, Sparrow launched herself from the ground and entered the house, gun instantly aimed at Reaver's head. He recovered just in time to see the pistol aimed right between his eyes. His face was a portrait of utter shock and annoyance.

A grin was threatening to give her away, but Sparrow tried to keep her face grim, "Reaver, I wonder if that pretty face of yours would hold up against a bullet."

"I could ask the same of you, dear." He smirked, a face that would have probably charmed any other woman, which it most likely did.

Sparrow, however, knew him for what he was, "I would ask you why you're here, but thanks to that lovely letter you left, I can sort of get the idea."

"Ah yes, that," he paused for a moment, looking down at his knees, "do you mind, Sparrow dear, if I stood? I'd rather not get these trousers dirty, as they cost more than your life in gold." She clicked the hammer in place to answer him. He sighed deeply, "I see, well then, only one thing to do-!" Before she could react, Reaver kicked Sparrow's feet out from under her, causing her to yelp in surprise. Her gun clattered to the floor, to far away to reach, and her sword was strapped to her back, making it inaccessable. In an instant Reaver was on her, stradling her waste and pinning her arms down with one hand. A triumphant grin was glowing from his face, "Now now, Sparrow dear, you should know you can't best Reaver." He pointed to the gun that was now halfway across the room, "Especially with an empty pistol."

"Get off of me, you bastard!" Her thigh was burning terribly, and as she fought him her muscles cried out in protest.

A strange gleam entered those forest green eyes, "No, I think I like you like this, my dear. Perhaps I'll keep you like this for a while." Then he reached for his pistol, florishing it arrogantly, "Then again, I have business to attend to, and I can't have you living in _my_ house now, can I?"

There was a loud growl from the doorway, and like lightening Jack was on him before Reaver knew what hit him. As quickly as she could, Sparrow stood, drew her blade, and knocked Reaver's Dragonstomper across the room. Jack was attacking his arm, keeping him low to the ground, when Sparrow brought down her blade...and stopped. Reaver sensed her hesitation, and looked up into her eyes, "Why the hesitation, girl? Haven't you the stomach to kill me?"

His answer was a blow to the head with the flat of her blade.

She heard him fall with a soft, "Oof!" and he lay there, unconscious. Jack had stopped attacking his arm now, though he looked tempted to go for his throat. Sparrow stopped him with a look, then she limped over to one of the chairs in the corner, falling into it with a deep sigh. _What am I going to do now? _She watched as Reaver's chest rose and fell; he would look almost as if he were sleeping were it not for the slight trickle of blood leaking from his forehead. She twirled a piece of shoulder-length brown hair, patting her foot on the ground. Outside the town seemed to be coming to life once more, probably since the shots had died down. Hopefully they would just assume that someone was dead, and they had no need to come and investigate. That was another thing she liked about Bloodstone; there were no guards. However, it would have been nice to have known who's ship that was, and even nicer to have some guards take Reaver to a prison or wherever they took "bad guys". The thought crossed her mind to just kill him and be done with it, but something held her back. She bit her lip, knowing the answer was because she wasn't a cold-blooded killer. If she killed him now, she would be no better than Reaver himself. Leaning forward on her sword, Sparrow asked no one in particular, "So then, what do I do with you?" Jack tilted his head, confused. She laughed tiredly, "Well, he's not going anywhere for a while, maybe I should take care of this leg, huh boy?"

Jack barked happily, following Sparrow as she climbed the stairs, occasionally lending her his head for support.


	2. Who's the Prisoner?

**Secrets**

**By Lindsay R. Honosky**

**Chapter Two: Who's the Prisoner?**

His head was hurting, but not in the way that a good ale or six would cause. It hurt to open his eyes, and his hands and feet felt numb, so either he was having a migrane or he was tied up. Upon finding that he could no longer move his arms separately, he deduced it was the latter. Reaver opened his eyes, thankful that whoever put him here had the decency to leave only the fireplace as light. Then the thought crossed his mind that they fireplace looked familiar, along with the soft mattress beneath him, and he remembered where he was. He laughed slightly to himself, _Well, this little exploit could have gone better. _As his eyes slowly adjusted to the light, he noticed a few changes, if very subtle, of his old room. The mattress and bedframe were the same, but instead of his standard red and gold it was now a soft blue color, accented with blue lace around the trim. A water basin rested in the corner next to a vanity, a large mirror hanging gracefully above it with purple lilacs framing its polished surface. A plush looking blue carpet now rested between the bed and fireplace, and plain looking wooden cabinets rested against both walls. Reaver sneared in disapproval; those cabinets were horrible. He'd be sure to burn them once Sparrow was dead and he reclaimed what was his.

However, in his current state he knew not how long that would be. Even after three hundred years of life patients did not come easily. It still baffled him that that woman had bested him in combat; from what he'd seen of her she was nowhere near his stature as a fighter. She was probably better than most, but no one was better than Reaver. This only made his pride hurt more; not only had she taken his home but she had somehow managed to knock him unconscious and tie him up in said home! The ludicracy of it made his blood boil. _No matter, she'll pay soon enough. A shame though, to kill such a beautiful girl._ And she was beautiful, he had known that from the first day she stepped into his study. Of course, he had no idea of what trouble she would cause him; had he known he would have put a bullet right between those pretty blue eyes of hers. However, their meeting had also given him the chance to travel to that wonderful Samarkand, to sample all of their exotic pleasures. He almost regretted his smuggling companions finding him to report of his house being sold. Perhaps he should have looked further into the actual purchaser, however his dignity had been called into question, and he had boarded his ship post haste.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the wooden hallway, and he wondered if it would be better to feign sleep a moment longer. Then he saw the body stop at the doorway, and his chance escaped. He smiled as arrogantly as his current position would allow, "Good morning, my dear. Coming to check in on your prisoner, yes?"

He could faintly make out Sparrow's form as she crossed her arms, "You won't be my prisoner for long, Reaver."

"Oh? Then you do plan to kill me, well I say shooting a man while bound is a bit unsportsmanlike," he grinned like a wolf, "even for a woman."

"You should be thankful I'm a woman, least you probably wouldn't be alive to make such remarks."

"True," he sighed warmly, "I do have that affect on your gender. Tell me now, do you intend to kill me? Or is my fate to be something more of a darker nature?"

She stepped into the room, her face visible now by the soft firelight and the waking sun, "You mean like those poor souls you sent to the Shadow Court?" For a brief moment she saw a spark of fear in the pirate's eyes, but he quickly caught himself and resumed his trademark smirk. Sparrow returned the look, cocking an eyebrow, "Oh, did I hit a nerve?"

"Are you still sore about that affair, my dear?" He tried to wave a hand her way but remembered his wrists were bound, "We're comrades now, after all! Why, I've put the past behind me and moved on quite beautifully."

"Oh yes, I'd say you've put your past _well_ behind you. I'd even go so far as to say you'd sunk and drowned it."

The room was silent for what seemed an eternity. Then Reaver laughed mirthlessly and said, "So, you found my diary pages, did you?"

"Of course I found them," Sparrow answered, a slight hint of amusement in her voice, "you told me they were here in that lovely letter of yours, remember?" She walked closer, standing at the side of the bed, "Of course, that paper you used probably wouldn't have worked for a normal person, so anyone else who bought this house would have found nothing but blank pages, am I correct?"

"Still the tricky little Sparrow I remember," he looked into her eyes, a malicious smirk playing across his lips, "so tell me, how _did_ you get out of the Shadow Court still looking as spry as a baby chick?" His answer was a slap to the face. His cheek stung, but not as much as his pride. Fighting back the urge to yell, Reaver instead taunted, "So, the infalible Hero has her own demons after all." He looked her up and down, admiring the curves and slender body, "It's nice to know you can at least _act_ human."

"Reaver, you've forgotten what being human means."

"No, I believe when you forsook all those poor souls who died in the Spire for a mere dog, you reminded me." He shot back right as her hand went sailing through the air, "I allow only one smack per day, dear, unless you want to direct your blow a little lower near my backside."

She glared at him with that same look that most women gave him after a wild night of feigned "love" and "adoration"; the hate was almost piercing. Of course, he had never slept with Sparrow, only tried to betray her two or three times, then recently tried to kill her. Perhaps she did have a good reason for such hateful looks. It baffled him that she didn't swoon over him like all the other women in the world. Then he had to remind himself that this was no ordinary woman, it was Sparrow. Thankfully she didn't look like her grotesque friend, Hammer. That woman had given him a headache just by looking at her, and then she'd start talking.

Sparrow smiled ruefully, tossing her hair, "Reaver, I'm afraid if I touched your ass my hand would rot off my wrist."

"How rude, I do wash, you know. Unlike some men I prefer to keep this wonderful temple clean."

"Yes, with plenty of booze to wash out the system and whores to keep it exercised."

"Which reminds me, I haven't had a good workout in months. Care to help me out, my dear?"

She turned, walking slowly to the door, "Sorry, I don't sleep with three-hundred-year-old monsters." The door slammed behind her, causing the windows the shake in their frames.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

She thanked whatever God there was that she had left when she did. Reaver was getting under her skin, and had she stayed any longer she probably would have shot him. Of course, that would mean her becoming a murderer, and that thought always seemed unpleasant to her. She descended the stairs into Reaver's old study, admiring the simple blues and greens she'd furnished it with, replacing the reds and golds. Red reminded her to much of blood, and she saw enough of that on the roads.

Sunlight poured gently into the study windows, bathing the room with a soft and calming light. To think that she had witnessed the death of two men in this very room, and she shuddered to think of all those who died before them. The thought crossed her mind once more to just kill Reaver and rid the world of his presence for good. He was a killer himself, so that should justify anything she chose to do with him! Then she remembered who she was, and tossed the thought to the wind like so many others.

Jack seemed content with guarding Reaver's door, so she decided to go down to the docks and inspect Reaver's ship. How he'd gotten it, she'd rather not know, but she would like to know if any of his men would get the funny idea to attack her house. The clouds above looked angry and dark, a storm blowing in from the west. In moments the sun would be devoured by them, and there would go any hope of Sparrow's good mood. The town was buzzing with life; crate carriers running up and down the hill to the various shops, children running around breathlessly as they chased chickens or each other. Some of the villagers had hit the tavern early, their drunken songs heard muffled along the main streets. A whore near the street post shouted a cat-call to her, but she simply ignored it and continued to the dock.

The boards creaked under her feet as she marched purposefully down the dock, heading for the ship. She could see a few men pacing the decks back and forth, then one saw her and shouted, "Ay, what's this? Did you actually kill Reavar?"

"Maybe I did, what's it to you?"

The man next to the other spoke up, "Nah, she didn't kill him. She ain't got the heart for it, do ya Sparrow?"

"I suppose you're supposed to stay at the docks until Reaver returns, right?"

"Aye, but seein' as he hasn't come back, we might as well go our own way."

"Go your own way," she put her hands on her hips, "aren't you his crew?"

"Nah, just your everyday mercenary. Reaver didn't have much time to assemble an actual crew. Although," the man stroked his beard thoughtfully, "the rewards of being in his service almost made me think about joinin' 'im."

Sparrow had to fight down bile, "So, once you lot leave, the boat will be empty?"

"Sure seems like it, why?" The man smiled, revealing a mouth void of most teeth, "You thinkin' of buyin' his ship out from under 'im too? You're a harsh lass."

"Trust me, I don't need Reaver's boat. It took me months just to wash his smell out of his house, I can't fathom how horrible it would be to rid a boat of it." As she turned to leave she heard the men laughing; hopefully they wouldn't decide that becoming pirates was a much more entertaining profession. She'd hate to have to kill anyone right in the middle of Bloodstone, what with the town finally appearing to calm down a bit. Violent crimes were way down, and rarely did anyone steal from one another anymore. There was always remnants of Reaver's smuggling operation, but they stayed mostly in the dark, not out in the open like she had first found it. She wondered if half the whores in Bloodstone were, in fact, slaves left over from the Spire; those who were caught but to late to sell before Lucien died. Sparrow had tried to help them, but they would either shy away in terror, tell her to stick it, or say she was a sweetie and deserved a "good time".

She hurried back to the house, thankful that most of the men (and some of the women) were to busy with their daily chores to notice her. Sparrow had tried dressing down, now that she didn't have to look so intimidating, but that didn't seem to stop the constant cat-calls, randy comments, or of all things marriage proposals. Those infuriated her the most; how could someone want to marry her based on knowing next to nothing about her? For all they knew she was some crazed, idiotic murderer that would kill them as soon as they fell asleep. She told herself it was because they thought she had money, but in reality she really didn't have that much. Someone must have started a rumor that she had found a mountain of wealth in the Spire, for that would be the only way she could have afforded Bloodstone Mansion. Sparrow laughed sadly as she remembered how real that rumor could have been.

As she reached the crest of the hill a small boy ran up to her, his friends waiting further behind him, watching. Dirt patched his face, making him look like a tiny rag doll, and his clothes were in tatters. However if this bothered him he showed no signs, as his eyes were alight with joy as he stared up at her. Nervously, the boy stammered, "U-um, L-L-Lady Sparrow? It would m-mean the w-w-w-world to me if I could get your a-a-autograph."

Sparrow smiled at him sweetly, "Well, let me see if I have any cards, okay?"

"R-really?"

"Hold on," she reached into her bag, fumbling around to find the tiny pieces of paper. At first it had annoyed her whenever someone had asked for her signature, but she had slowly grown to enjoy it as she watched the childrens' faces light up. She didn't know why it made her feel so happy; perhaps they reminded her of Rose and herself when they were younger. Maybe if they had had a hero to look up to, Rose would have wanted to be a traveller instead of living in a castle. Her heart skipped a beat as her fingers brushed against Rose's letter, tears threatening to fall as she remembered its contents.

"Lady Sparrow? A-are you a-a-a-alright?"

"Oh? Oh!" She laughed shyly, "I'm sorry, I don't seem to have any cards on me. Um..." She scanned the waterfront, hoping to find the General Store was open. The man was more than likely in the pub, for she saw no sign of him. She frowned, "Well, there goes that idea." She saw the child's face grow disappointed, "Wait, I know!" She motioned for the boy's friends to come closer. Once they were all gathered she asked, "Alright, I don't have any cards at the moment, but I've picked up some _wonderful _treasures in my journies. Just tell me what you like, and maybe I have it."

A big, round boy with fiery red hair shouted, "I'd like a toy gun, so I can be the Pirate King Reaver!"

Sparrow's eyebrow twitched slightly, "Of course you do," she sighed, "and you dear?"

It was a mousy looking girl with big brown eyes and a frightened, almost sickly look. She said quietly, "Um, you don't have to worry about me, ma'am..."

"B-B-Becky l-likes those p-p-porcelain dolls, b-b-b-but I d-don't have enough g-g-gold yet." This came from the boy who'd asked for you autograph.

"What's your name, sweetie?" She asked the boy, kneeling down to his eye-level.

The boy blushed wildly, "N-Noah, ma'am."

"And I bet your Becky's big brother, aren't you?"

"Y-yeah, I p-protect her!" He held up his arm as if to show her how muscular he was. It might have been cute, had the arm not looked so emaciated.

Sparrow ruffled his hair, smiling sweetly, "Don't worry about buying your sister that doll. I have plenty, believe it or not. Now, what do you want, Noah?"

He seemed to blush, not able to look into her eyes, "A toy s-s-sword, if you have one, i-i-if you don't, th-that's fine."

Sparrow stood, brushing off what little dirt had landed on her coat, "Alright, a toy gun, a porcelain doll, and a toy sword. You three wait here; it won't take me three minutes."

The children fidgeted nervously, not sure if she were in fact going to retrieve the toys, or if she were simply trying to get away from them. Sparrow dashed inside the house, going for the tiny cabinet in the hall between the entrance and the study. There she opened the tiny chest she had assigned for children gifts, since she found them so many times scattered around the place. First she found a pretty doll with a white face and brown eyes, in a way it almost looked like little Becky. The red curls were still tight, and her dress was spotless; she set it to the side and returned to her search. She came across a tiny wooden sword, the hilt wrapped in soft leather to keep the user from developing callouses. A smile came to her face as she remembered her own toy sword, how Rose said she looked just like a Hero...

She felt the tear drop before she realized she was crying. She wiped them away stubbornly, placing the sword with the doll and began her search for a toy gun. Of course the last thing would be at the bottom, its bullets scattered about all along the bottom. As she picked it up and remembered what the boy said, she thought better of loading the toy and decided not to pack the ammunition; she wasn't going to be responsible for an instant eye of of the socket accident. Satisfied with her finds, she closed the lid and gathered up the toys, rushing at a brisk walk to where she'd told the children to wait.

Disappointment was replaced with disbelief and soon delight as the children saw her come into view. The bigger boy pushed past the other two, his arms outstretched as if to say, "Give it to me now!" His grubby fingers opened and closed like an infant's, and she assumed that his mother must still treat him like one. She frowned, "Now now, that wasn't very nice. I think you should apologize to those to for pushing them before I give you this."

He looked confused, as if the word "apology" had never made it into his tiny vocabulary. However the threat of not receiving a toy made him a quick learner. He turned quickly, shouting, "I'm sorry if I hurt you Becky! You too Noah!" Then he turned his attention back to Sparrow, "Can I have my present now, ma'am?"

She rolled her eyes, "I guess that'll have to do."

As soon as she had it in her hand the boy snatched it away, turned, and tried to shoot little Noah. He cried in disappointment, "It's not loaded? Why not?"

Sparrow took the toy back, "For that exact reason. I'm not going to give you something just so you can tease your friends. Now," she walked past the sulking boy, leaning down to the other children, "I believe these are for you."

Noah just stared at her in utter awe, but Becky was close to tears as the tiny doll entered her arms. She hugged it so tightly that Sparrow was sure had it been a real person it would've been crushed to death. Tears started to fall down her face, washing away some of the dirt to reveal too pale of skin, "T-thank you. Thank you so much...!"

She smiled sweetly, then handed the toy sword to Noah. He grasped it gingerly, holding it out from his body as if it were magical. Sparrow ruffled his hair, "You use that to protect your sister, you hear me? If I find out that you've used it to hit a chicken or something-"

"D-d-d-don't worry, h-hero! I-I won't l-l-let you d-down!" The two then looked at each other, smiled happily, and ran down the hill.

The bigger boy sulked past her, but turned and said, "My momma will hear about this! You-!" He stifled a hick up, "You'll be sorry!"

Sparrow blew a stray strand of hair from her face. It was true, she probably would hear from mummy dearest sooner or later, and then she'd tell the woman what a horrid brat she was raising and shut the door in her face. The sun was now thoroughly hidden behind the clouds, and the faint rumbles of thunder drifted across the oceans. She could feel a small pressure behind her eyes, and groaned as the feeling of a migraine was setting in. Oh well, maybe she would just sleep it off this time, instead of working herself sick like she normally did. She laughed to herself as she remembered that probably wasn't a good idea, what with an infamous Pirate Lord being tied up in her house.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Reaver heard the door open once more, only this time it was shut immediately afterwards. It had annoyed him that she would leave the door open so carelessly, what with him tied up and unable to defend himself. What if a bandit or thief had come in? Or worse, one of his ex-lovers? He smiled playfully at the humours scene that would indeed make, and all the horrible assumptions the people would make of their beloved little Sparrow. However, upon further reflection, Reaver decided being mistaken as some mad woman's sex slave as a bit beneath him.

He could hear the dog whining outside his door, followed by heavy footsteps ascending the stairs. Sparrow's words were to muffled to make out, but he assumed it was something along the lines of "And how's our prisoner, boy? Did he give you any trouble?" Reaver swore he'd kill that damn dog in front of her before killing Sparrow herself.

For a moment he thought she was going to come inside, but the footsteps continued on down the hall, then disappeared all together. "The nerve of that woman!" He huffed, an indignant frown replacing his usual relaxed grin. Then he heard the simple piter-pater of raindrops on the roof, followed shortly by a loud clap of thunder. The room grew darker, and the wind caused the shutters outside to slam against the walls. _That's just what I needed now, _he fumed, _a bloody storm that's likely going to be strong enough to destroy my ship. And I'd just stolen it too..._ Reaver manuevered himself into a sitting position, testing to see if he'd regained his strength again. _Only one way to find out_, he smirked, stretching his arms around his back and looping his feet through the space between, causing his binds to be at his front. This was a good start, now to untie his legs.

It took him awhile with his numb fingers, but the ropes finally fell from his ankles, his feet feeling the sudden rush of warm blood like a fire. He ignored the pain, just adding it to the long list of reasons to kill Sparrow. As soon as he trusted his legs he hopped up from the bed, trying to find something sharp enough to cut his hands loose. He noted the lack of fine weaponry he'd hung on the walls for display, among other uses, and sighed irritably; that knife he'd picked up on Knothole Island would have been extremely handy in this situation.

Thunder boomed outside, so loud it shook the house. Hopefully the sounds of a shattering vase would be disguised behind the rumble outside. Reaver lifted a decorative clay vase well above his head, determined to shatter it in one go, and dropped it as hard as he could. The crash was annoyingly loud, and for a moment he thought that damn mongrel would hear it. However, after several minutes there was only a few barks, the telltale sounds of footsteps nowhere to be heard. Reaver gave a sigh of relief, picked up a shard, and began to cut away at the ropes. He amazed himself at how quickly he freed himself, though he wasn't to surprised. After all, he was Reaver.

He rubbed his wrists, imagining it was Sparrows neck he was wringing, "Now, lets go and pay back this little fiasco." Reaver kept the shard in his palm, loathing the future hunting he would have to do for his weapons. _They better be in a nice place, _he thought angrily. He walked towards the door, opening it quietly. The dog was no longer keeping watch, however he could hear it barking and whining upstairs. Interesting, the dog must be afraid of the thunder. Maybe that would help, if the beast were to frightened to fight he could easily get deal with Sparrow, and maybe he would kill her furry companion before he dealt with her.

The house was a little to quiet for his taste, and the lack of maids and servants disturbed him. It annoyed him when people of note refused to use their talents to enrich their lives with hordes of followers, but then again it made killing the woman that much easier, so perhaps he shouldn't complain to much. Besides, he'd be sure to refill the house with plenty of servants, once he'd dealt with this little problem. He reached the second room next to his, finding to door was open. No one was inside, but the strange statue of a knight cast haunting shadows through the doorway, like a fiend reaching out to ensnare him. His heart skipped a beat for a moment, then he reminded himself that those particular shadows were miles away from him, and his last little sacrifice had bought him a few more years. Recovering his nerve, he continued on down the hallway, listening for any signs of movement.

He came to the last room, and found that it too was open, however it looked as though someone had been inside recently. In fact, that same bloody Highwayman's coat was resting on the bed, its owner nowhere in site. That only left one place; he turned quickly to take the stairs to the third floor, making sure that the glass in his hand was secured enough for a quick attack if necessary.

The rain covered the squealing protests of the stairs as he slowly ascended into the attic. Or what was the attic, but now seemed to have been turned into a rather nice reading area with what looked like another room attached near the end. He could faintly make out the sound of water running behind the door, a small amount of light flickering below its frame as the dog scratched and wined pathetically behind it. For a moment Reaver wondered what on earth he was so frightened of, but then decided he didn't really care since both he and his mistress would be dead anyway. He took three deep breaths, readied his foot, then slammed it into the door with as much force as he could muster.

The door flew off its hinges, revealing a white and blue room with wooden walls and tile flooring. In the walls were little cubbies carved for candles to sit and burn while the owner relaxed in the huge silver tub at the center. However, even though the water was running there was no body in it. Instead, he found her lying just oustide the tub, her hand outstretched as if reaching for something. The dog looked up at him for a moment, warily at first, then he began to whine and nudge at his mistress's hand.

Curious, Reaver walked over to see if she had somehow slipped and hit her head, however as he flipped her over he found no marks or bruises. Her eyes darted behind closed eyelids, her lips curled in a painful grimace. _She's having a nightmare, poor dear..._Those thoughts disturbed him; he actually felt concerned for the woman. Well, perhaps it was a slight feeling of sympathetic pain, seeing as he too suffered from nightmares. He watched as Sparrow spoke in her sleep, "Rose...! No, please...not Rose! I'm the...the one you want..."

The dog whined beside him, looking at him as if to say, "Please help!"

Reaver rolled his eyes, a distasteful sneer on his face, "I came here to kill you to; helping would be counter productive."

He jumped slightly as a cool hand pressed up against his swollen wrist, soothing where the ropes had burned him. He looked down, watching as Sparrow's face seemed forever stuck in a portrait of sorrow. She really was beautiful, her face almost angelic in sleep, despite the nightmare that plagued her. Her soft brown hair had fallen into her face, the Will lines coursing through her body barely visible but somehow hauntingly alluring. Then he realised the woman had no clothes on.

For the first time in what seemed hundreds of years a blush crept into his cheeks. The last woman to make him do that was...was _her._ Inexplainable emotions surged through him, and when he finally remembered the glass in his hand he couldn't bring himself to slice her throat. It would be absolutely nothing to kill her now, but he could not bring himself to do it. With an exasperated sigh he lifted Sparrow in his arms, finding her surprisingly light, and carried her out of the room. The dog followed behind, wagging its tail happily, "Don't get to used to this, mongrel," he growled, "I'm only delaying the inevitable."


	3. Two is Company

**Secrets**

**By Lindsay R. Honosky**

**Chapter Three: Two is Company**

**Sorry for the long wait, I just couldn't get this chapter to go the way I wanted it. I'm still not that happy with it; I think I make Reaver a bit to out of character. Oh well, I'll let you all be the judge of that. Please enjoy and leave a review, critical or otherwise (I love feedback)!**

_"I can't do it!" Sparrow shouted, crossing her arms. She could feel the sting of tears brimming her eyes, but she was to stubborn to let them fall._

_Thereasa reached down to retrieve the stick that now lay at her feet, "You can and you will, Sparrow. Now, again."_

_Before she could react, Thereasa threw the stick at her, barely making it in time to catch it. Her mouth shot open to protest, but before a word left she was parrying a blow from the red-cloaked woman, their weapons clashing with a resounding _clack_. Sparrow leapt back, positioned her weapon to a more comfortable position, and charged, anger now fueling her tiny body. As she brought her stick down to strike at Thereasa's leg, the woman glided to her left, her own weapon stopping Sparrow's before it made contact. Heat rose in her cheeks as she could hear Thereasa clicking her tongue at her, and in a blind fury Sparrow brought her stick down over her head, hoping to knock the older woman unconscious._

_Sparrow hit something, but before a triumphant smile could appear she felt her stick fly from her hand, watching as it bounced and finally landed in the sand by the shore. Thereasa held her own stick at Sparrow's throat, her disturbing white gaze piercing through Sparrow's heart. Then a smile appeared on that haunting face, and she lowered her weapon, "Remember, little Sparrow, once you lose yourself in blind hatred, so to do you lose your ability to fight clearly."_

A loud russling noise woke her, a moan escaping her as Sparrow tried to wake. Everything felt weak, from her head down to her big toes. The rain outside hammered against the sides of the house, each drop a nail driving into her head. The pressure behind her eyes was almost unbearable, and as she tilted her head to look around the room an emmense feeling of nausea threatened to take hold of her. She heard the noise once more, and her eyes shot to her left. A man was crouched in front of her dresser, fishing through her belongings as if a long lost treasure were hidden away between its contents. Confused, Sparrow watched as he would pick up one item, give it a critical eye, then toss it to a pile that had seemed to grow by the minute. She tried to sit up, only to find her arms were still to weak, and fell back against the pillow.

This must have drawn the attention of the man, because he turned his head slightly and sighed, "Sparrow dear, you really need to find better clothing. It's a shame to let a beautiful figure such as yours go to waste." Something woke in her, and Sparrow's eyes shot open once more to meet Reaver's. He looked just the same as he always did, smiling at her in contemptment, acting as if nothing had happened. So many questions popped into her head, but the only one that she spoke was his name.

He laughed mockingly, holding an old blouse of her she'd bought at the Gypsy Camp, "Really? Sparrow, this is inexcusable! This may be alright for those gypsy women while they travel the roads, but you're a hero." He turned his back to her again, continuing his search, "Surely you have something more fitting for your status. Whatever happened to that lovely corset you used to wear with those wonderfly tiny shorts of yours?"

"H-how did you-?"

"Get free? Really Sparrow, you were far to careless. Leaving me all to my lonesome tied up while you decided to fall asleep next to your bathtub; and here I thought you were a sensible woman."

"Next to my-!" Sparrow stared at herself in shock, realizing why Reaver was fishing through her closet. Heat rose in her face as she held the blankets as close to her person without causing the fabric to fuse with her skin, "What did you do to me?" The dizziness returned to her then, and Sparrow closed her eyes, to weak to keep them open, "I swear, Reaver, I'll-"

"My dear, in your current condition, I doubt there's much you could do to a harmless beatle, let alone me. Ah!" He stood, holding in his hand a shimmering silk nightgown, one that had been a gift to her from the tailor in Westcliff. Reaver looked it over critically, "I guess this will have to do, though white is such a boring color." He folded it in his hand, almost gently, then sat at the edge of Sparrow's bed, "Now, I need you to sit up."

Her hand swipped at him weakly, only earning her a mocking laugh, "Now now, none of that. You'll catch cold if you don't dress yourself." He flashed her an impish grin, "Unless you'd like me to keep you warm; in fact, I believe I prefer that option. Dressing another person seems somewhat boring."

"You're not dressing me, Reaver!"

"If it's because of some sense of modesty, forget your worried," he looked her up and down, as if he could see her through the blanket, "you have nothing I haven't seen before. Although few had such appealing assets as you, dear."

Sparrow looked away, to embarrassed to meet his eyes, "Please, Reaver, just let me do it...!" A warm hand gently carressed her neck, and before she knew what was happening Reaver had lifted her body into a sitting position, holding her there as if she weighed no more than a doll. She could feel a blush burning her cheeks, and cursed herself for being so weak. _If I wasn't so sick, _she kept repeating, over and over in her head as Reaver's deep green eyes smiled at her.

She could feel his thumb trace the outline of her spine, and for a moment Sparrow saw something in Reaver's eyes that made her stomach flip. Then the pirate lifted the dress he'd been holding over her head, "Lift your arms, if you can." Reluctantly Sparrow did as she was told, feeling like a child. The silk was mercifully cool against her flushed skin, and as the fabric past her throbbing forehead she sighed a bit in relief, regretting it had fallen over her body so quickly.

Reaver then leaned her back against the pillow, removing his hand just as gently as he had placed it there. Standing, he then reached towards her and grabbed the end of her skirt, dragging it slowly down until it covered her stomach and upper thighs. He stood back, a hand resting under his chin as he studied his work critically, "Yes, that will do nicely. Now," Reaver turned his back to her, creating more ruffling noises but what he was doing was hidden behind his form. Sparrow quickly saw him sling his cloak around his shoulders in one fluid motion, fastening the chain around its star-shaped fastener. Without more than a smile, Reaver then turned towards the door, steeping into the candle-light.

Sparrow's heart stopped for a moment, and before she could control herself she shouted, "Reaver-!"

His laughed echoed from the hallway, "Don't fret, my dear! I shall be back momentarily; we have business to discuss."

Sparrow had the sinking feeling that he meant the business end of a pistol.

The rain did horrors to his hair, a with his hair his mood. The streets were always filthy, but it seemed the rain only made it worse; like a brown river of garbage cascading down to pollute his prestine seas. She didn't seem to like the rain that much either, as he watched the tumoltulous waters toss and turn in an angry tempest, white waves crashing against dock and cliffside respectively. A sinking feeling began forming in his stomach, and as if on que a heartwrenching crash came from the docks below. As he turned the corner between the brothel Reaver witnessed the death of his newly aquired ship. The poor thing never had a chance in this storm, being docked and tied down while it raged around it.

A mornful sigh passed his lips, "All that hard work for naught." The world flashed around him, and for a moment he was transfixed on the celestial display that played out before him. The storm followed its grand entrance with an ear-shattering thunderclap, so loud it shook the ground beneath his feet. He could hear the brothel patron's wooping or cursing the raging tempest, only to all change into a breathless awe as a second bolt graced the sea's surface, the light shining so brightly it burned the eyes. Reaver wished he would have stayed out to sea just a day or two longer, to battle this monster head on. But now it seemed it would be a while before he could rejoin his love once more, least he grew gills and fins. Turning on his heel, Reaver began the lone walk back to the mansion, the storm giving him a grand blast of thunder as a farewell.

As he walked past the gate the dog began to whine again, and Reaver shot him a distasteful glance. Once he had put Sparrow to bed he decided to tie the mutt up outside, not wanting to deal with the dog further. However, now as the beast stared at him with those big brown eyes, he couldn't help but feel a painge of guilt. Perhaps it wouldn't be to terrible to keep him in the basement, since the dog couldn't get into to much mischief with his rear passage safely sealed. As he walked closer the smell of wet dog assulted his nostrils like barrage of armed men. The dog simply barked, wagging his tail happily as someone came close to him. Reaver held his nose, reaching to untie the rope that held the dog to the gate. It gave way with a simple tug (thankfully), and with little coaxing the dog followed him up the stairs, happy to be out of the storm.

He was slightly surprised to see the door to his study already open, though there had yet to be a fire lit in its fireplace. Reaver felt the rope in his hand grow taut, the dog whining and jumping in a desperate attempt to reach the room before him. Not wanting his study to be anihilated by muddy paws, but also not wishing to dislocate his shoulder, Reaver let the dog loose, praying he would only go as far as his target was. Grabbing an extra candle from the hallway, Reaver followed to mutt into the darkness of the room, hoping he was correct in who was sitting within.

Based on the happy whimpers and whispered praises his assumsions had been correct, for sitting in the corner where he used to read was Sparrow, her face visibly pale even in the dimness of the candlelight. Even though he could see the lines of pain in her face, she still smiled warmly as the dripping animal layed kisses all over her bar arms and hands. Reaver watched this for a moment, quickly growing bored of the affectionate display and went to the fireplace, leaning down to inspect the pit. The logs looked as though they could be reused, and sure enough with a simple torn piece of paper the room was filled with a warm glow.

The storm outside still raged, and by the look on her face the one inside little Sparrow's head was much the same. Denied his regular chair, Reaver simply pulled one of the extras from the table near the right of the room, sitting down contently while watching the lightening flash from beyond his windows. The world seemed to go on in a calming silence, until the dog had finished with his happy hellos and decided it was time to warm himself by the fire. Reaver watched him roll up onto the floor rug next to the flames, annoyed at the amount of muddy pawprints that were left behind. Upon further inspection, he found his study had stayed much the way he had left it. The grandfather clock still chimmed away grimly as the gentle glow of the fireplace reflected upon the red and gold furnishings that rest around it. Some of his books were missing, though his shelves still looked the same, if not a little worn for wear. He had a feeling that those missing volumes would be found upstairs, but that was for later. He turned to look at his companion, curiosity sparkling in his eyes, "Why did you leave my study the same?"

"What?" She seemed to wake from her own little world, startled for a moment that someone else was in the room with her. Then clarity, however small, seeped into her eyes and Sparrow shrugged, "I don't know. I guess I liked it the way it was." She leaned down, cradling her forehead between her hands, breathing deeply.

"Are you alright, love?" She shook her head, her body visibly shaking. Reaver sighed, "Why did you come downstairs if you knew you were only going to make yourself sick?"

A weak laugh came from her, "Well, I thought you were going to kill me, so I guess I'd rather meet my fate head on instead of asleep in a bed upstairs."

"Such a grim disposition on life for one so young," Reaver leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head, "besides, I can't kill you yet. You owe me to much money to kill you now."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you are the cause of my ship being destroyed, _and_ it seems your intent on denying me my home, so until we come up with some sort of argreement I've decided you're more useful to me breathing."

"I can only assume you're not going to leave me alone until I help you?"

"You assume correctly."

"I could always just kill you myself."

He laughed gaily, "You could try, dear Sparrow." He gave her a taunting look, "You'd fail, but you could try."

She giggled, a reaction he wasn't expecting. Reading his expression, Sparrow pointed towards him, "You're not that threatening when your soaking wet, you know?"

For the first time since he'd gotten home Reaver realised how cold he was. Strands of dark-brown hair streaked against his forehead, and his image must have been truely ridiculous. He looked up to return her teasing, only to find she had disappeared. There was a soft russling outside the door, but before he could investigate Sparrow returned, tossing a towel his way. He snatched it out of the air, quickly taking it to his head, then wrapped it around his shoulders. Sparrow returned to her seat, her legs gratefully giving way as she sank into the chair, "You should sit closer to the fire; you'll be warmer."

"I believe your dog has already taken that position," he raised an eyebrow, "kindness? From you, Sparrow?"

"Thank the migraine, Reaver." She sighed heavily, "Don't look to far into it; I just couldn't imagine how annoying you'd be with a cold, based on how you are presently."

Reaver laughed, crossing his legs, "You know, most would find my charming and witty."

"Most _also_ haven't had the pleasure of meeting your little shadow friends in Wraithmarsh."

"True, and those that have shortly died anyway."

"At least they didn't have to live long after...," her eyes grew darker, "Reaver, how on earth could you do something so terrible?"

So many reasons popped into his head at that moment, but he didn't give voice to them. Instead, he felt his face grow cold, and his voice held a note he had almost forgotten he was capable of producing, "After three-hundred years, you grow numb to such trivities."

"Reaver?"

"Enough of such dreary subjects!" His face sprang back into its usual form, his voice merry once more. Reaver stood then, placing the towel on the chair and began unfastening his cloack. It fell to the floor in a wet heap, the dog jumping at the sudden noise. He then began to remove the bow-tie that was around his neck, followed by unfastening the buttons that held his shirt together.

For a moment Sparrow watched him, not realising what he was doing. Then it hit her like a brick wall, and she stood quickly, though a bit to quickly for her system to catch up with her. Dizziness consumed her, and she felt her body tilting forward. Just as she thought she was about to meet the ground, strong arms held her up, lifting her back to her feet as quickly as she had fallen off of them. Her forehead leaned against the cool fabric of whoever had saved her, and when she realized who it was she didn't seem to care; it felt to good to care. The throbbing seemed to lessen, and she sighed in relief as the pain subsided momentarily. She could hear his deep laughter echoing in his chest, "Yes, I'm sure this looks funny, but my forehead is thanking you right now."

"If I knew you were so affectionate when sick, I'd keep you like this all the time."

"You're confusing 'affection' for...for something else."

"Lose our train of thought, did we?"

"I think I need to go lay down."

He laughed again, "Shall I join you?" Reluctantly, Sparrow pushed herself from his body, wobbling on unsure feet. She rocked dangerously to the side, but before she tilted to far Reaver grabbed her arm, gently, "Perhaps I'll just escort you back to your room; you'd be no fun in this state."

"In any other I'd have probably scratched your face off by now." Sparrow couldn't help herself; she leaned most of her weight on the pirate's shoulder, allowing herself to be led through the house. She could faintly hear Jack following closely behind.

Reaver only sighed, "Of all the things on my body to scratch, why my face?"

"It seemed to be the target that would most affect you."

"Such a cold woman; I wonder what it was to make you so."

"A-another time," her eyelids were growing heavier by the second, and she almost tripped while taking the stairs. Sparrow never realized that her body had been lifted into his arms, already asleep by the time they'd reached the bedroom.


	4. Tit for Tat

**Secrets**

**By Lindsay R. Honosky**

**Chapter Four: Tit for Tat**

Morning announced itself via the cries of seagulls fighting over the remains of fish unlucky enough to be washed ashore after last night's storm. Sparrow yawned, gazing out the windows from the second-story deck, holding her night-robe clothes to her body. She assumed last night was one of the first of many storms that would grace Bloodstone as winter set it; it sent a chill up her spine. Sparrow could weather monsters, but those migraines of hers were terrors all their own. She gave her arms a stretch, still slightly weakened from the previous night's illness. It would be noon by the time she had fully recovered; she grimaced, not looking forward to half a day lost due to noodle legs.

Jack was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, looking up at her pleadingly with those big brown eyes. He gave her his usual good morning lick on the hand, then rushed over to the door, scratching it lightly. Sparrow rolled her eyes, "Sometimes I wonder if you aren't a cat in disguise." He barked at her, then returned to his scratching. By the time she got to the door Jack was whining, hopping on impatient feet. Sparrow laughed, patted his head, and opened the door, watching as the mutt disappeared in a golden flash.

Sparrow stood on the porch for a while, breathing deeply of the salty sea air. A cool breeze caressed her cheek, causing her hair to dance about her face, lost to the whims of the wind. Bloodstone really was beautiful, if you only took into account the visual aspect of it. From atop the hill you could see the sun rise beyond the end of the world, the sea a sparkling field of diamonds, gently whispering sweet nothings like that of a young lover. The cobblestone streets wrapped their way around the various houses and businesses like a speckled snake curling around and under rocks to find shade from the sun that would soon shine down upon the sea-battered buildings. People began to emerge from within these buildings, looking still half asleep and remorseful of the previous night's drinking binge. She smiled a little to herself; some people were going to have one hell of a day. Deciding it was to cold to stand outside any longer, Sparrow turned and went back inside, closing the door behind her gently.

The house was to cold for her comfort, the floor hard and uninviting beneath her feet. With a low grumble Sparrow walked into the study, noticing with a sigh the muddy trail of both dog and human prints left behind form last night. She frowned, wondering why Reaver hadn't bothered to take his boots off? She guessed he thought somewhere along the lines of, "it's alright if I leave tracks"; Sparrow left them their and continued to the fireplace. Most of what was left of the fire from the previous night hand burned away, a stream of explosive cursing pouring from Sparrow's mouth as she made her way to the "basement door". The bookcase concealing the hidden entrance looked just like any other in the room, which is why it had annoyed her to no end trying to find the right book to pull to open the damn thing. Looking back on it, she couldn't understand why it took her so long to find the switch; the book which opened the door was titled "The Many Faces of Reaver". It was basically an artbook full of sketches he must have collected over the years (which for him counted for a lot), but when put in the right place the lining fit into a tiny switch at the back, and the door would open. The stairs above shook as the door unlocked before her touch, a blast of air coming up from the caverns beneath. Igniting a tiny flame at the tip of her finger, Sparrow descended down the stairwell, cursing again when she found the stone floor was much more chilly than the wooden one.

The wet, musty smell reminded her of why she didn't come down here often. The sound of the sea echoed further down the cavern, giving the place an eerie, unwelcoming feeling. Her tiny flame reflected upon the untouched wine bottles as they rested in their shelves, a healthy layer of dust resting on the bottom-most bottles. Giant barrels of mead cast shadows that looked like a troll were about to stand and fight her, the tiny flame's flickering making the dark shapes dance along the stone walls. Crates, dressers, tables, old book-shelves, and countless amounts of discarded furniture rested in these dark halls, collecting mold and dust. She knew she should really clean the place out, but she rarely came down here (unless she needed firewood) and she didn't know what to do with all the items anyway. So there they sat, untouched and unused; she gave them a mournful sigh and walked to the pile of cut firewood in the corner.

By the time Sparrow made it back to the study she was sure there were at least six splinters embedded in her fingers, and the silk gown she had underneath her robe was sure to be picked to little pieces. She threw the wood into the opening, quickly turning the pile into a blazing inferno. With a satisfied smile Sparrow watched as the flames consumed the dry wood, warmth instantly seeping into her body. Looking outside, she found that the sun had risen quite high, yet as far as she knew Reaver was still asleep in the guest room. For a second she wondered why she should care if he stayed in bed late, but found herself climbing the stairs anyway. Maybe if she were lucky she'd find the room empty, and she wouldn't have to deal with him at all today.

The second-story hallway was always so dark; Sparrow often thought of installing a window in the small sitting room, however she had the sinking suspicion not much sunlight would reach the new addition, thanks to the cliff resting behind the house. What little light that came in through the doorway was enough to keep her from breaking a leg on the table and chairs that lay about, however she still had to feel her way to the third staircase. She was grateful that the walls were so close together, giving her something to help guide her up the stairs. She'd wanted to put some paintings or something on these bare walls, but with no lights, it seemed like a waste, so they stayed bare and boring, poor things. The floor creaked as she stepped onto the third floor, pale light gently illuminating the empty hall. The only sounds were that of her own breathing, the door to the guest room still closed tightly. She walked quietly towards it, placing a hand on the cool doorknob, and turned it gently.

In the darkness she could hear a faint, almost panicked mumbling coming from further inside the room. For a second Sparrow hesitated, then stepped further inside, keeping to door cracked. The small sliver of light landed across Reaver's face, a mask of nightmarish pain. Sparrow moved closer, finding herself transfixed on his face. His eyes darted back and forth behind closed eyelids, watching some unseen horror play out behind them. His lower lip trembled, mouthing words that came out as indistinguishable mutterings. Sweat beaded upon feverish skin, and his hands clutched at the bedding in a vice grip. She remembered the tortured words of his final journal page, and concern suddenly filled Sparrow. She reached a hand out, hoping to wake him gently.

She cried out, her hand locked in an unbreakable grip. Before she knew what was happening Sparrow found herself being flung onto the bed, something heavy pinning her down. She looked up and found wild, terrified green eyes piercing into her, the barrel of a pistol resting on her temple. His breathing was haggard, and his arms trembled slightly. A fog seemed to rest behind those eyes of his, and Sparrow found herself afraid of him. She licked her lips and tried to keep the fear from her voice, "Reaver-?"

"Dead. They're all dead."

"I know," her hand reached up, touching his face.

"I didn't want them to die. I didn't know." The gun fell from his hand, though his eyes still held their dazed look, "She cried out my name..." Reaver lifted his hand from Sparrow, then quickly rolled off of her, resting his head once again on the pillows. Sparrow stood, slightly shaken, As quickly as she could, Sparrow darted from the room, closing the door behind her. She felt something warm trickling down her cheeks, and as she lifted her hands to her face she found tears had fallen from her eyes.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

It was well past noon by the time Sparrow heard anything from upstairs. Jack could sense her anxiety; he walked over quietly and rested on his mistress's feet, keeping a protective eye on the door in front of him. The heavy footsteps stopped on the second-story deck, and she could hear a deep yawn from behind the wall. After a few more moments the footsteps began again, this time much louder as they descended the last flight of stairs. The door to the study opened, revealing a shirtless, unkempt Reaver. A note of surprise was in his voice as he said, "Why, Sparrow! I had forgotten you were here."

"How could you?" She sighed, looking at the fireplace, "Nevermind; do you know what time it is?"

He walked across the room, sitting across the table from her, "I find mornings boring. Nothing to do during them, save read a book or eat." He ran a hand through tangled hair, "As I had neither interest in either subject, I chose to sleep in."

Sparrow gave him a mocking grin, "I wonder how you'd fair at an honest day's work?"

"Please, honest work is rather boring, don't you think? The tedious act of doing the same thing, over and over again until your mind goes numb from unrelenting repetition."

"Some people put a lot of pride in their work," she countered, eyeing him flatly.

"And I don't?" He laughed heartily, "My dear Sparrow; one does not become the King of Pirates without putting a little of themselves behind it."

"I'm sure being alive for almost three hundred years helps."

He laughed again, "Yes, that helps too."

The room grew silent, time passing awkwardly between them. Sparrow traced the tip of the table, her mind absently returning to earlier that morning. It seemed strange to her, to see him look so happy, well, not really happy, but not what she would expect him to look after such a dream. To have the same dream, over and over again for almost three centuries; it baffled her that he hadn't gone mad. Perhaps he had, which is why he acted the way he did. Throwing away his old name, even his old ways seemed, at least to her, like small hints of insanity. Reaver woke her from her thoughts as he chuckled from across the table, "Hm?"

"Your face makes such a delightful look of pain when you think, my dear. It makes me wonder," he laced his fingers together, leaning his head to rest upon them, "what are you thinking to cause such a face?"

She narrowed her eyes, "Why the sudden interest?"

"Because I assume your thoughts are on me, and to be perfectly honest," he gave her a grin, "I find anything concerning me of the utmost interest."

"That's pretty vain of you," she looked at her fingernails, pretending to be bored, "why on Earth would I be thinking of you?"

"I hate repeating myself, Sparrow."

She sighed in annoyance, "Alright, perhaps I was thinking of you."

"And?"

"And I find it hard to grasp just how you could get away with being alive for so long. How did you do it? Surely someone would have caught on to your little secret," she pointed an accusing finger at him, "though I'd assume you'd quickly put an end to them, once they knew the truth."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when they reopened they held a strange emotion, "Yes, most of those who figure out my secret are buried in some grave, either through my hand or that of time's. As to how I 'get away with it', as you so crudely put it, I simply change my appearance once I grow bored or it becomes to long in the teeth."

Sparrow waved her hand, "Simply changing how you look every few years isn't enough to keep imortality a secret. I could change my appearance right now; that doesn't mean people would mistake me for a completely different person."

"Indeed, that takes a little more of a creative air." He shrugged, "My title, Reaver, is simply passed down from one man to another, after I 'die', of course."

She raised an eyebrow, "Die?"

He laughed at this, like he was the only one privy to a hilarious joke, "Yes, ironic, isn't it? A man who wished to escape death must, from time to time, stage his end to keep up the illusion." He rubbed his eyes, sighing haggardly, "It get's rather tiresome, if I do say so."

"And how, if you don't mind me asking," she smiled again, "which I know you don't, did you manage to convince people you'd died?"

Reaver leaned back in his chair, and he said with contempt, "Luckily, pirates haven't evolved much over the years. They're still the same superstitious idiots who will believe anything they see and ask little to no questions afterward." He read the curiosity on her face, "I simply dressed some poor soul in my clothing, disguised myself, and shot him. The title remained mine, along with my belongings, the only difference is my hair and style changed."

"Yes, that, and the loss of an innocent life."

"And how many of those have you taken? If I'm not mistaken, I heard some say that a certain young man named Alex threw himself off a cliff, to heart-broken to carry on."

"It's not my fault the fool felt the need to take his own life," she slammed her fist down on the table, "had I known what he would do, I wouldn't have listened to that ghost in the first place!"

"Oh? And here I thought you were just a little heart-breaker," he looked at her mischievously, "it would explain the lack of a wedding ring around your finger."

"That is none of your business, and for your information, I would have explained more to Alex, had he not ran of crying into a sea of people."

"Oh, well, you deserve a stronger man than that, anyway." A seductive smile shown between his fingers, "I just happen to be a strong man; what do you say, Sparrow? Shall I show you what you've been missing?"

She sighed, rubbing her temples, "Why is talking to you so tiring?"

He shrugged, "I honestly don't understand you; most women would be stammering and tripping over their own feet had I said that to them."

"I'm not like most women."

"Indeed?"

"Yes," she barked, "for one, I know you for what you are, Reaver."

"And here I am, knowing little to nothing about you." She shot him a glare, "Now now, no need for such harsh looks. Of course I know about your career as a hero, however, I know next to nothing about your previous life." Sparrow was surprised to see genuine curiosity in his eyes, "I feel it a bit unfair, for you to know so much about me, yet you remain a mystery."

"There's nothing mysterious about my life, so just stop wondering."

"Consider it tit for tat, then."

"Excuse me?"

"Tell me about your past, and I'll forgive your rude intrusion upon my own."

"I-!" She could feel heat coming into her cheeks, and bit back an insult as Reaver flashed her his teeth, "Very well. Consider us even after this."

"In one aspect."

"Fine!" She sighed deeply, "Get comfortable, and I'm not repeating myself so listen carefully." Her eyes locked onto the fire, and she began her tale, "I don't remember much of my childhood, least not until we left for Bowerstone."

"We?"

"My sister and I. Now don't interrupt me again, or I won't tell you anymore." Getting a confirming nod, Sparrow continued, "Our parents either died or abandoned us, I never really found out. Rose never talked about them much; I think it hurt her to think back on them. However, I hardly even remember my family, so it didn't affect me as much. We were very poor, and it was hard for us to live on the streets, but somehow Rose always found a way to take care of me," she laughed sadly, "one year she even convinced a family of traders to take us in during the winter. That was..." Sparrow tried to keep the tremor from her voice, "that was the year before she died." For a long time the room was silent, and for a moment Reaver thought she would not continue. Then Sparrow took another deep breath, and began again, "The year she died was the same that I found Jack. He was with me since that night. Looking back on it now I wish I would have made Rose stay, but she wanted to live in a castle, and that damn wish we made..." Sparrow reached up, wiping tears from her eyes, "Forgive me."

"Please, take your time."

"I haven't talked to anyone about this," she laughed between a hiccup, "and I never thought _you_ of all people would be the one listening to my tale."

"Tit for tat, my dear. But if you don't mind my asking, what is this wish you refer to?"

"Oh, yes," she looked at his face then, her voice sounding stronger, "do you remember the music box I had in the Spire, the day Lucien died?"

"You mean the day I shot him?"

"Yes," she said angrily, "the day you denied me my revenge."

"The look on your face, ah, if only I had an artist's hand, I'd immortalize it for you." He purred between an impish grin, "Now, what about that music box?"

She fought back the urge to shoot him, "Well, it just so happens that that very same music box that helped me stop Lucien is also what helped take my sister's life. We were told it was magic, and it was, just not in the sense that the vendor suggested." Sparrow began to twirl a piece of her hair, "My sister and I spent a whole day earning enough gold to purchase a magical box that could grant wishes. My sister wished that we would live in a castle..." Her eyes grew distant, like she was watching something far off, "She was always so worried about me; she tried so hard to make a life for us." She laughed sadly, "I wished for her to be happy; I didn't care where we lived, just as long as she was happy. After we made our wishes, the box floated up into the air and disappeared in a flash of light. Rose was so upset, she stomped back to our little shack, and told me we might as well just go to bed.

Somehow Lucien found out about us purchasing the music box, and had the guard come and escort us to the castle. Oh, Rose was so happy," her voice trembled again, and she took a moment to collect herself. After a moment she started again, "That was also the first time I saw Garth, though, he only stayed long enough to pass us going down the hallway." She laughed ruefully, "He told me, after Theresa told him what happened that night, he would have tried to save us. At the time that had only made me angry; wouldn't he have realized what Lucien had planned? But now, I guess it was sweet of him to say, considering what would have happened to him had he indeed intervened." Jack whined at her feet, and she gave him a comforting pat, "Anyway, my sister and I were escorted to Lucien's study, and he began to ask us questions. He even promised my sister that we could live with him, then he told us to stand in this circle on his floor. Rose was the first, and a blue light lit up beneath her feet. I was to frightened to move, but Rose told me not to be afraid, so I stood next to her. That was when Lucien found out that one of us was the Fourth Hero, but he didn't waste time in figuring out which of us it was. Instead he..." she bit her lip, fighting back tears, "he simply shot both of us. Rose fell to the floor before me; I was to scared to move. I wanted to go to her, but then Lucien pointed his gun to me, and I remember backing away from him...then I...I think I must have fallen out the window or was thrown out by the force of the shot."

"How on Earth are you alive now?"

"Thank Theresa for that, she was the one who found me." Jack growled, and she laughed, "And of course you too, Jack. I don't quite understand what it is that allows me to survive such high falls, I simply assumed it was because of the Hero Bloodline, but I've never really cared to look to far into it."

"So, what happened then? After your miraculous survival from a fall of at least six-stories and a bullet wound?"

She shrugged, "Nothing, really. Theresa trained me as I grew, then when I was old enough I set off to kill Lucien." She shot him a rueful grin, "Which you so marvelously did for me. I think you owe me something, for denying me my life's purpose?"

"Oh really," he cocked an eyebrow, "alright, I'll bite. What do you want?"

"Your name, before you became Reaver."

"I hardly think-"

She held up a finger and winked, "Tit for tat _my dear._"

His form grew rigid, his face an unreadable mask. The room held an awkward silence, but Sparrow would not release him from her gaze. His eyes grew darker, and for a moment she thought he was going to storm out in a blind rage, or worse. However he simply sighed, crossing his arms over his bare chest, "Adrian."

"What was that?"

"I told you I hated repeating myself, dear." He looked at her with an almost bored expression, "I used to be called Adrian. Now, if you don't mind," he stood abruptly, causing the chair to squeak across the floor, "I'm going to make use of that lovely new bathroom you've installed upstairs."

"Reaver?"

He stopped at the doorway and turned towards her. He found her smiling sweetly at him; the first time she had ever given him a genuine, "Thank you." He left quickly, shutting the door behind him.


	5. Bowerstone or Bust

**Secrets**

**By Lindsay R. Honosky**

**Chapter Five: Bowerstone or Bust**

**I am sooooo sorry for the long update. Let's just say I sort of lost inspiration in everything for a while. Anyway, I hate how this chapter is; it's short and uneventful, however I suppose it's needed for some sort of story development. I apologize for the lack of quality, and please leave me reviews; hopefully I'll have the next chapter up much sooner (and written better) than this dreadful piece of...well, I'll stop now. R&R please!****  
**

The day seemed to pass without anyone's notice, the night emerging in a glorious show of stars and blue moon. Sparrow paced the docks aimlessly, not really sure why she was simply standing around. Perhaps she was avoiding going home purposely? It was quite an intimate conversation between her and the Hero of Skill; one she never thought she'd have to share. However, she couldn't take back what had happened, and now she was acting like a fool. So what if she had told Reaver? The self-centered oaf had probably forgotten all she had said anyway.

..._But, he told me his name..._

Heat rose in her cheeks, and for a moment his face flashed before her eyes. Not the mask he wears on a daily basis, but that scared, almost innocent face he had when she woke him from his nightmare. Sparrow growled to herself, ruffling her hair. How stupid! There was nothing there for him; absolutely nothing. So what if he were the most famous pirate to sail the waters of Albion? Who cares that the man was absolutely beautiful...Sparrow scowled, "And an absolute arse, egomaniac, sadist, masochist, murderer-!"

"I didn't know you thought of me so much, my dear."

Sparrow jumped, then recovered as she glared at the grinning pirate, "And just _what_ makes you think I was refurring to you?"

He shrugged, "Do you know anyone else who fits those most wondrous adjectives?"

She looked towards the sea, hoping to hide her blush, "What do you want, Reaver?"

"A moment of your time, if you'd permit me."

"Do I have a choice?"

He laughed, "No, I guess you don't! Anyway, I believe I can fix our little 'problem', so to speak."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow, "This doesn't involve a bullet in my brain, perhaps? Or maybe a knife in my back?" He was silent for a moment, and when she turned to look at him she saw something that looked almost like hurt, "Reaver."

He seemed to catch himself, "Come now, Sparrow dear, I believe we're well past the point of killing each other, haven't we?" His smile seemed even more fake than it normally did, "After all, I was beginning to believe you didn't find me quite so...insufferable."

She felt the corners of her mouth twitch, "Reaver," she laughed slightly, "you're not trying to say that you like me, are you?"

His face grew dark, and for a moment Sparrow felt the need to grab her pistol, "I haven't 'liked' anyone for over 300 years, dear girl. You'd be wise not to get a swelled head."

She sighed, "Of course. I wonder how long it's been since you've been able to take a joke?"

Reaver pulled on his gloves, "I enjoy a joke every now and then, however ones played on me tend to end on a very sour note."

"I can only imagine."

"Yes, well," and once more he wore the face of Reaver, "none of this banter is getting us any closer to solving this puzzle, now is it?" Sparrow nodded, and he continued, "It seems a proposition has come to me from Bowerstone; a former acquaintance, you see, has informed me of a certain piece of real estate that has just gone on to the marked. Now, be a good dear and tell me just what you think that might be?"

"Really, Reaver, you know I already _own_ Bowerstone. What else could there possibly be-!" Her breath caught in her throat, and the image of that white, towering castle shown behind her eyes.

He smirked, "But the look on your face I can tell you know what I am referring too?"

For a moment she couldn't speak, but then remembered who her company was, "There's no way I could afford it-"

"And why not?"

"I have to pay you back, obviously!"

"Think of it this way; you buy yourself that nice little castle, and I get back my house _and_ the rest of Bloodstone." He smiled to himself, rubbing his chin, "Yes, I think I rather like that idea."

"Give you back Bloodstone?" Now Sparrow's face darkened, "Are you insane? You'd turn it back into that rotting cesspool once I left!"

"Now now, I believe "cesspool" is a little harsh, don't you think? Besides, you give me far to much credit; you actually believe I would waste my time interfering with these..._people_? All I want is my quaint little hilltop again so I can grow old and happy."

Her eyes narrowed, "I have your word? You would leave the people out of whatever it is you're planning?"

He shrugged, his face feigning innocence, "Who am I to tell them not to get involved?"

"Reaver!"

"Very well! Take heart, little Sparrow, I shall do no harm to these thralls you seem so attached to." He reached out his hand, a gleam in his eye, "So, have we reached an agreement?"

Sparrow hesitated, knowing full well she shouldn't trust the old pirate. But what other choice did she have? Like Reaver had so clearly put it; they were well past killing each other. If she didn't repair his ship soon, she'd be stuck with him for God knew how long, and that still didn't solve his house problem. And she could also fulfill her sister's dream...Their hands clapped in the silent night, and Sparrow sighed, "Agreed."

"Excellent! We leave at the first sign of dawn!" He turned with a flourish of his cape, heading back towards the manor.

Sparrow jogged after him, stammering, "We? What do you mean, 'we'? Reaver, you're coming with me?"

He turned, looking to her with an expression of contempt, "Really now, I thought you would have picked up on that. How am I to know my investment pays off if I do not see the transaction for myself? Besides, it's been ages since I've actually _walked_ anywhere in Albion. It will be, how should I put it, a refresher course of the beauty that is my Albion." There was a pause between them, broken suddenly by a small giggle from Sparrow. Reaver raised an annoyed eyebrow, "And what is so humorous?"

From behind her hand, Sparrow giggled, "You don't exactly come across as the rugged adventurer type."

"Oh?" He snapped, "And just how _do_ I come across?"

She passed him going up the stairs between the pub, "Oh no, I remember what you said about people telling jokes about you. Just keep in mind that you're the one who wanted to come along, not me."

"I have a very similar rule about those who keep secrets from me, Sparrow dear."

She shrugged, "I'm sure you do, but it's late, and I'm tired. Perhaps I'll tell you tomorrow," she giggled again, "on the road."

Jack's barking echoed down the alleyways, and Sparrow quickened her pace, leaving a fuming Reaver to follow after her.

She had woken dreading how long it would take the Pirate to finish packing for their journey, however she was pleasantly surprised (but mostly shocked) to find the man already downstairs with a pack that seemed much to tiny for his ego. Sparrow had expected something more...well, extravagant than an actually practical ammount of supplies for their trip. Reaver stood to the corner of his study, mindlessly skimming some book while Jack rested near the fireplace, as if to say farewell to his warmth-giving companion. However, once he noticed her the dog bound up from his resting rug, barking happily at his mistress. Sparrow kneeled, patting him on the head, "You ready for some action, boy?"

Sparrow jumped as Reaver slammed the book closed, a pleased grin on his face, "Well well, I see we're still sporting those lovely short-shorts."

"I'm still sporting my Clockwork aswell, if you'd care to take a look," she answered flately.

He sighed, "Always a violent response. How tragically dull." Reaver looked her over critically, "It _is_ a shame, that you choose to cover up the best part of those shorts with that long coat of yours. And why wear such a tart bodice if you're just going to cover it up?"

"Are we really having this conversation?"

"I believe we are."

An exasperated sigh escaped her lips, and Sparrow shook her head, "If it's bothering you so terribly, I wear these because I can move in them. I wear the coat so as not to be confused as one of your whores." An explosion of laughter filled the room, and Sparrow frowned, "I'm glad you find those worshipers of yours so funny!"

"Oh no, I admire my fans. I only find it _oh so_ delicious that people think that _you_ are among them. Tell me now," there was a look in his eye that made Sparrow's stomach flip, "what else have they said about 'us'?"

Sparrow stood, flipped her hair, and headed towards the door, "Only the stuff of your wildest dreams, Reaver."

He picked up his pack and followed, "Really? My dreams can be quite...colorful."

"I'm sure they are."

The sun had barely risen over the waking world, a tick mist surround all in a suffocating gray. There was a chill to the air, though not unpleasant, and dew still clung to the surviving flowers of fall. Silence permeated the tiny port town, its denizens still fast asleep. Sparrow smiled, realizing how much she would miss this place. Here she had found solace, peace and quiet, and now to go back to the busy and noisy Bowerstone almost made her want to cringe. However, perhaps once she was settled into Fairfax, she could still be left alone? She laugh begrudgingly; of course, and people would just choose to forget that she was a hero and owned most if not all of Albion. She watched as Jack bounded down the alleys and streets, stopping only to see if his two companions were keeping up. Guilt built up in her throat, and she remembered the wish she made at the Spire. Her fists clenched, and she stopped walking for a moment.

Reaver, obviously lost in his own world, nearly stumbled into her. He shot her an annoyed glance, "Having second thoughts?"

"I..." Sparrow wouldn't look at him, afraid he'd see the tears brimming her eyes, "I did something very selfish, you remember."

"If I may, Sparrow, something selfish to you would be something self_less_ to me, so I say put it behind you." Her body was visibly shaking, but instead of insulting her, Reaver simply continued walking, "If you feel that you've done the people of this world wrong, then you should put all you have of yourself into making it right."

She looked up, surprise lacing her words, "Reaver?"

He waved his hand, "That is what your old heroes would have said, correct? Come now, I'd rather be out of Wraithmarsh before nightfall." She watched him for a while, not noticing the smile that played on her face. Realizing she was falling dreadfully behind, Sparrow ran after the two, apologizing for the delay.

They walked through Bloodstone in silence, as if afraid that a single word would wake the sleeping town. The sun rose to greet them, however his rays were lost behind the thick veil of fog. Sparrow sighed; it would probably rain again. Thankfully her head felt fine, for the moment, and leaving the coastline might give her a small respite from the ever changing weather conditions. Sea gulls cried above them, and as the reached the top of the hill the bells rang for the citizens of Bloodstone to awaken. Sparrow turned, wanting to look at her haven one last time. She could faintly make out three tiny shapes, running around chasing each other, the small glint of a doll's face in the arms of the tiniest. She smiled, mouthed the word "goodbye", and turned her back to Bloodstone, not knowing when next she might return.


	6. Truce

**Secrets**

**By Lindsay R. Honosky**

**Chapter Six: Truce**

**HaHA! See, it didn't take that long after all, lol. Who am I talking to? I have no idea, I blame these silly comments on my lack of sleep (it's about four in the morning...) AHEM! Anyway, I want to thank you all for your reviews, really. I treasure each and every one, and it does my heart good to know that people enjoy my stories. I shall try to update as fast as I can for you all, and please leave me reviews so I know if I'm still don't a good job. Also, I wonder if I should put some Fable 3 characters in here as well. I'll let you decide, as I am writing this for you guys, lol.**

**On a side note I'm putting some funny commentary at the bottom of this chapter, because sleep deprivation compels me to.**

Even though it was barely past nine in the morning, Wraithmarsh was a dark and cold place. Through the fog the sun shown in a sickly green blur, and in most places even those rays seldom touched the ground. The damp, moldy smell seemed to float up from the ground as you walked on it, or what seemed to be "ground". It was more a lucky patch of mud that had stayed dry enough to collect dirt, however the next rain would end its short-lived ambitions. Everything looked green, and if it wasn't green it was brown; normally colors Sparrow would enjoy, however in the dull light they became drab, uninviting things with threatening shadows hiding close behind them. A raven flew by over head, casting the shadow of a monster that engulfed the three travelers as they walked in silence.

A slight breeze tossed Sparrow's hair into her eyes, momentarily blinding her. She gave an annoyed sigh and stopped, afraid she might trip on one of the many branches just waiting for the opportunity. Just as she was reaching for her face she heard the echo of a gun's hammer, then the moan of the walking dead, "Move!"

Dust exploded to her left, and before she could think Judge's Steel was in her hand, the light from the blade almost blinding. Hollow Men surrounded them, their moans filling the air. Another was behind her, and Sparrow swept its feet from under it, watching as the fall made it lose an arm. Three more shots fired, smoke surrounding Reaver, almost completely concealing him when coupled with the fog. Jack had gone to work on the knocked down Hollow Man, removing its head and walking away with a triumphant growl. Sparrow stood and took count of the enemy; there were at least five left, though she knew not how many wisps might be floating around. She grimaced, tightened her grip, and lunged, bringing down the closest Hollow Man with a boot to the chest. It exploded on impact, the noise amplified as another shot ripped through another's neck. Reaver's eyes were alight with blood lust, and for a moment Sparrow remembered how dangerous he was while fighting the Shard. A sharp hit to the back woke her from her daydreaming, and she answered back with the hilt of her blade. The Hollow Man merely moaned, unable the feel the pain, and went for her once more. She rolled to the side, then dragged her blade through its chest as she rose, the creature returning once more to the void.

Only two were left, their skulls alight with an other-worldly glow. Curses flew from Sparrow's mouth as the one closest released a lightening spell. She had mere moments to react, dodging it by the skin of her teeth. However she didn't think that its companion would be smart enough to catch her as she jumped back. Pain erupted down her spine, through her limps, her entire form frozen as lightening coursed through her. The creatures drew closer, brandishing twin great axes. She tried to move, but was wracked with pain for her effort, and soon the world was growing darker. The last thing she saw was the skulls of the Hollow Men exploding, followed by a worried bark.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_There was a bird chirping outside her window. She watched it for hours, transfixed on the many little brown flecks that decorated its tiny body. So absorbed in her bird watching she didn't realize Rose had come to stand beside her. Her sister smiled, "Do you know what that is?"_

_She only shook her head, unable to answer._

_Rose smiled, "It's called a Sparrow. You don't see to many of them in Albion anymore."_

_She frowned, "Why?"_

_"They're a dying breed. Mother said that they were so grief stricken by the loss of the Heroes that they too decided to accompany them to the void."_

_"But why? Not all heroes are dead." She said, feeling sorry for the tiny thing that perched outside her window._

_Rose ruffled her hair, kneeling down to face her, "No, I suppose they aren't."_

_"Maybe they're just off looking for those who disappeared?" She smiled widely, "Rose, we should go find them too!"_

_"Oh? Well then, little Sparrow, just where should we start?"_

_"What did you call me?"_

_Rose lifted her eyes from her sister to the window, "I called you Sparrow, since you're going to find Heroes one day."_

_Sparrow laughed, then grabbed her sister's hand and began to rush out the door, "Then come on! We can't keep Albion waiting!" Yet as she reached the door her sister's hand was no longer there, but replaced by a cold, cruel blue one wrapped in black leather. The face that looked down on her was morphed and deformed, horrible sharp spikes protruding through the figure's face. Sparrow tried to free herself from his grasp, but the Commandant was to strong, and it only earned her a mocking laugh. She was thrown to the floor, the vibrations shaking the very depths of her soul._

_Sharp teeth could be seen over the lip of his trench coat, as the Commandant promised, "I will break you..."_

She woke screaming, cold sweat drenching her forehead. Fear threatened to engulf her as she realized she was not in her room. In fact, she did not know where she was, the fog making it to thick to see. However there was warmth coming from her left, and the familiar sound of Jack's whining finally cleared her head. Sparrow found herself laying in a rather neat looking camp, a fire blazing merrily with a tiny cook pot hovering above it. Jack was laying across her legs, his eyes watching her curiously. She patted his head, though when she tried to get up her body screamed in denial. Memories of her previous battle flooded her mind, and she flushed with embarrassment and fury. Of all the times for a few Hollow Men to get the best of her!

"By the look on your face, it seems we won't be leaving Wraithmarsh before nightfall," Reaver seemed to emerge from nothing, "pity."

Sparrow tried to sit up by her elbows but failed, "You didn't have any trouble while I lay unconscious, did you?"

He eyed her flatly, "Sparrow, do you not remember who you are addressing?"

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, how foolish of me to forget."

"Indeed," he smiled then, "We really should do something about the way we spend time together." She raised an eyebrow, to which he smirked slyly, "It seems a waste for us to always be on our backs, yet not fully utilizing the possibilities of those situations." There was something strange to his manner; tense and slightly nervous, as if he were bothered by the remnants of a particularly disturbing dream. His smile seemed strained, deep green eyes darting back and forth as if in search for something that was not there.

Sparrow shook it off, crediting the known dangers of the swamp to his unease. She lay back to the ground, sighing deeply, "One day you going to say the wrong thing to me, and one day one of us will end up dead."

He gave a short laugh, "No certain as to whom the victor will be? Really Sparrow, you should gain some more self-confidence."

"Perhaps I would believe I were a big shot, had I not just been reminded how easily it is to be beaten."

Arching an elegant eyebrow that no doubt took hours to sculpt, Reaver answered, "Perhaps I was wrong about you, my dear. If I'd known you were such an insufferable corpse of self-pity, why I believe I would have just left you to rot in Bloodstone."

She closed her eyes and laughed, "Such the motivationalist."

"Only to those who owe me money," he gave her a playful wink, his form relaxing for the first time since he'd re-appeared in the camp. It was then that she noticed his jacked had gone missing, along with the cape. The white undershirt he wore beneath seemed to cling to him in places, and when she strained her neck to find out why she found a rather large red stain. Reaver followed her gaze, an annoyed grimace appearing on his face, "You needn't worry over such things. However it is a pity such a fine shirt was sullied." Reaver sighed, a hint of pain hidden masterfully around its edges, "I suppose it is but another number to add to your increasing debt to me."

With the help of Jack she leaned up, examining his side further, "This isn't something to laugh about, Reaver."

"I don't recall a chuckle ever escaping my lips-?" A hiss of pain and surprise cut off his words as cool hands lifted the silken fabric and graced over his half-made bandage.

Sparrow frowned deeply, "The wound must be deep if you've already soaken through this bandage," she rubbed her face, trying to rid herself of her weariness, "hold still while I change it for you."

Reaver grabbed her wrists, firmly but not so much as to hurt her, "Sparrow dear I believe you've just broken the rule of personal space."

She looked up, an eyebrow raised in amusement, "I didn't think that word was in your vocabulary, Reaver." Sparrow was surprised to see how serious his face had grown, and behind his eyes was something similar to the lines of fear, "Reaver?"

The man stood and looked away, "If I wish to be touched by another being then _I_ will be the one to initiate the contact. Unwanted contact from another individual usually ends up with them getting quite familiar with a pool of their own blood."

"I see," she stood and walked after him, however madly her body protested. Once she was fully behind him she placed both hands on his shoulders, and before he could say another word she had pushed him to the ground. The glare he shot her would have paralyzed a weaker person in fear, however Sparrow simply ignored him and went for her pack. Standing before him, she ordered, "Take off your shirt."

A cocky grin answered her, "Oh? You intend to take advantage of me in my weakened state? Why, I had no idea you were such the deviant, Sparrow dear."

"Loose it. Now." Her tone gave no room for argument, and she hid the surprise as she watched Reaver comply. Kneeling down, she began to trace the lining of his bandage, delicately so as not to aggravate the wound, and found it's beginning. It was masterfully wrapped, no doubt from centuries of his own patchwork, but she doubted he had magic to help keep infection at bay. She glanced up to watch Reaver's face as she unraveled the material, wondering what he might be thinking behind that bemused smile. However, once she had finished removing the bandage, all thought went to the wound.

It was an angry, crimson thing that tore in three places on his ribcage. _Claw marks_, something said to her, and she whistled, "Ouch." Reaver stayed silent, his face changing to a blank slate. Sparrow ignored it, amazed at the fact that the man could hide so much pain behind his silly smiles and idiotic conversation. Blood was threatening to fall with the removal of its barrier, and Sparrow quickly put her hand over the gashes. She felt Reaver tensed, but beyond that he gave no response. Blue light soon emanated from her hand, and she could feel the warmth of her magic spreading across the torn muscle and flesh. It took only a minute or two for the would to heal completely, and Sparrow sat back with a satisfied smile. As she wipped the blood from her hands, her eyes once again trailed to Reaver's face, and she stopped moving.

The intensity at which he were staring at her startled her, almost to the point of being frightened. She called his name once, but he seemed to be lost behind those deep green eyes, and for a moment Sparrow thought he might have passed out due to the pain. She reached a cautious hand out to him, "Reaver?"

As quick as a snake her wrist was locked in his iron grip, and in a blur she was on her back with something heavy atop her. She struggled to breath, to move, but her body would not respond to such impossible desires. As she looked her assailint in the eye, true fear shown on her face. His voice was cold, eyes dark, "I told you not to touch me." The lack of air must have been making her head spin, for it was if she could see shadows dancing around his body, "It's dangerous for people not to listen to me."

"Good point, remind me not to heal you anymore." She snapped, hoping her words sounded braver than she felt.

He laughed in a low, guttural tone, teeth showing like a wolf's. Reaver brought his face to rest mere inches from her's, "Perhaps I should teach you some lessons in humility?" Anger exploded in Sparrow, both at his boldness and the blush that seemed to creep upon her cheeks. Though however hard she struggled, she couldn't replace the man who straddled her hips. His lips found the delicate shell of her ear, the vibration of his whisper sending chills up her spine, "You fight so hard to deny your body of what you want. Do you really desire that I take my leave of this wonderful position?" His tongue traced the lining of her ear, and she hated herself for the hitch in her breath.

"G-get off of me now, Reaver-!"

She felt him tense once again, watched as his head rose. A vicious smile replaced that of his lust-filled visage, and he sounded almost regretful, "It seems I have no choice but to comply."

A howl echoed beyond them, and it was only now did Sparrow notice Jack's growls. She arched her back to look behind her, receiving a small intake of breath as her hips made contact with Reaver's. She rolled her eyes, swallowing down the shame she felt for feeling flustered, and found the source of the howl. A white balverine stood above them atop a hill, shining in the silvery moonlight. The monster was enormous, though thankfully alone, licking its mauw in anticipation for its next meal. As she studied the creature, she noticed it was already bleeding quite profusely from a wound to the shoulder, however its right claw was covered in blood. She looked at Reaver's chest, "I thought anything that invaded your personal space drowned in their own blood?"

"Only if there's no threat of my drowning in my own."

Reaver rolled to the left, Sparrow the right, both finding their pistols just as the beast landed between their camp. Jack gave it no chance for to gain its footing, as the dog leapt for the balverine's throat with amazing accuracy, latching on in a ferocious show of teeth and claws. Before it could react two bullets had pierced its head, and the beast collapsed in a heap of blood and fur. Jack jumped off his target, satisfied that it was dead, and sniffed it curiously. Sparrow put a hand on his head, "I wouldn't eat that if I were you." The dog gave it another sniff, then decided his mistress was probably correct, and returned to his fireside bedside.

"Well that certainly was boring-oh?" Reaver stopped as the barrel of a pistol nearly touched his sculpted nose. He laughed gaily, "My my, perhaps I was wrong."

"I wonder what it is about that disease-riddled brain of yours that thinks you can't come near me after nearly raping me, Reaver."

Reaver's smile only widened, "You can't rape the willing, my dear."

The hammer to her gun clicked in place, "I don't remember inviting you to crush the breath out of me."

"Maybe not with words, but that delicious blush that danced so gracefully on your cheeks said otherwise. Now," sparks flew as his Dragonstomper met with her Clockwork, the weapon being flung from her hand as if she herself has thrown it. It was amazing at how gracefully he moved around her, his arm twisting around her neck while the other had somehow pinned her arms together. Sparrow let out a small cry as pain shot through her shoulders. Reaver laughed quietly in her ear, "I believe I was about to teach you a thing or two about 'manners'."

Despite the pain Sparrow struggled, but to no avail. How could he be so strong? She bit her lip, fighting back panic, instead choosing to let fury fuel her, "If you do, so help me Reaver I'll teach you the finer things about having a few extra holes to breath through!"

"I believe that threat might hold some credit, were you not shaking so badly," he crooned, lifting her chin so their eyes met. For a moment the smile that seemed forever on his face lessened as he stared into those sparkling blue orbs. There truly was fear hidden beind the anger, and something stirred inside of him, like a strange tickle in the back of his head. For a moment he thought he heard a voice, the owner of which long since dead, screaming out for him to stop.

Sparrow refused to look away from his eyes, determined not to show fear. She was confused to see the dance of conflict playing out on Reaver's face, then she realized he seemed to be drifting through his thoughts. As quickly and as hard as her limbs would allow, Sparrow brought both her arms down, breaking Reaver's pin. She spun out of his arms, rolled, and reclaimed her gun, however Reaver had brought his up just as quickly. Reaver clicked his tongue, looking generally concerned, "Neither one of us will make it out of this marsh if we keep trying to dispose of each other."

"We are in a graveyard," Sparrow tried one of his trademark grins, "perhaps it's fate?"

He barked a harsh laugh, "Hardly, my dear. If I were fated to rot in this slimy crypt of the damn, I would have died all those years ago." With a flourish Reaver holstered his pistol, raising both hands in the air, "A proposal then, hm?"

Sparrow eyed him warily, "Another instance of 'tit for tat'?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of a truce," he stroked the small patch of hair which grew upon his chin, "I swear I shall make no move to _harm_ you, as you so desperately need to put it, whilst we traverse the marsh. In return, I would like you to stop pointing weapons of any kind at my person," he moved one hand up and down his side, as if showing himself on display, "I am rather fond of it, you know."

"And what if I were to just kill you now?" He looked at her straight in the eye, and for what seemed an eternity they were silent. A strange clicking noise drew her attention, and she realized her hand was shaking. _What is happening to me?_ With an exasperated sigh Sparrow holstered her weapon, "Very well, Reaver. But so help me if you so much as touch a hair on my head-!"

"Yes yes, you'll shoot me with your pretty little pistol or stab me with that sparkling sword or whatever sick and demented means of demise that demented little mind of yours can dream up." He clapped his hands together, causing her to jump, "Now then! I do think that the water I put on earlier should have boiled by now, and all this excitement has left me rather famished."

"You're going to eat? Seriously? After all that's just happened?"

He reached down to put on one of his leather gloves, "Really Sparrow, what might have been eventful to you was actually rather boring to someone as exciting as me. You remember, I've had infuriated followers burn down my house whilst I slept away!" Grabbing the handle to the cook pot with the gloved hand, he gave out a startled yelp.

"What? Did you burn your hand?"

"Worse," he sighed in annoyance, "seems I'll need to go fetch more water. And so the monotony continues."

Sparrow sighed, exhausted. She walked over to where Jack lay, sitting next to the sleeping dog, and watched Reaver disappear once more beyond the bushes. Placing a hand to her forehead, she breated herself for finding that she was smiling from ear to ear.

**Me: Well, I think that went pretty well!  
**

**Reaver: You do, do you? I suppose you enjoy depicting me as some nemphomatic, homicidal deviant, do you?**

**Me:...Yeah, I kinda do. **

**Sparrow: It wouldn't be far from the truth now, would it?**

**Reaver: You women are so cruel. Why, dear Andrew would have never spoken to me in such a manner!**

**Me: Dear Andrew also knew the consiquences of pissing you off...**

**Reaver: Touche.**

**Sparrow: Enough, both of you. I think you should sleep now, Lindsay.**

**Me: And I think YOU should CRAM IT!**

**Sparrow/Reaver: ...**

**Me:...I'll go to sleep now.**

**END  
**


	7. Memories best Forgotten

**Secrets**

**By Lindsay R. Honosky**

**Chapter Seven: Memories best Forgotten**

**I believe this is the fastest rate that I've ever updated one of my stories (personal best)? Anyway, here's the seventh chapter of my Fable story Secrets, and only now do I realize I haven't claimed I own nothing of these characters, lol. OH WELL! **

**I want to thank you all for your support, really. You have no idea how happy it makes me. Also, to (I think this is right) idiotwhocantthinkofapenname, thank you from the very bottom of my heart. I believe it was your reviews that really put a fire back into my storytelling, and words cannot describe how grateful I am for it.**

**Now on to this chapter; I decided it was time to show the insides of Reaver's rotten little head before I went on, so here it is. I just hope I don't end up with a bullet to the brain because I did a bad job. Please enjoy and leave me feedback (nice or otherwise) and I shall have the next chapter up soon!  
**

Reaver sighed heavily as he topped the cantina and stood, surveying what lay before him. The voice that had tried so hard to be heard moments ago was remembering things that Reaver knew not of, nor did he wish to venture into that hazy veil of remembrance. However as his eyes trailed over the moss and mud covered landscape, he could not deny that small spark of guilt that wormed its way into his heart. _This was where we used to play_...He gripped the cantina hard, his knuckles now matching the pristine white of his shirt. Suddenly the world seemed much more darker, and the need to be back by a fireside seemed so great he might die of the need.

Everything about this place seemed to work against whoever was foolish enough to set foot upon its grounds. Paths looked as if they would change as soon as you took your eye off them, the trees looming closer to suffocate the very life from your limbs. And then there was the fog, drifting upon the earth like a supernatural miasma, thick enough to choke a man. Wraithmarsh truly was a dreadful place; nowhere else in his travels had Reaver met such an unwelcoming place...and he had created it. _No_, he thought defiantly, _that was a weak man. I am not he._ This mantra continued until the warm glow of a fire could be seen reflecting upon the treetops. Sure that he was under control again, Reaver strode into camp with his usual confident swagger.

What he found upon his return was almost comical. A sleeping Sparrow and her furry companion must have grown tired with waiting on his return, and drifted off to sleep next to the fire. The dog lay across her chest horizontally, making the two look like some demented artist's cross. If the weight bothered Sparrow, she showed no sign, and continued to sleep peacefully beneath the dog, unaware of the world around her. Reaver was almost envious of the peaceful visage upon her delicate face, bereft of terrors and nightmares. How long had it been since he'd slept peacefully? The nights were to long to count. Such thoughts were dangerous, the lead to a wondering path of memory to which he refused to transverse. However, in this place, such thoughts were neigh impossible to deny. Reaver looked to the fire, the tiny post that hovered above it, and realized he no longer was hungry. He walked over to his bedroll, scanned the camp one last time for anything moving, and rested his head to the ground, regretting the lack of a pillow.

_The dream again. It was always the dream. It should have stopped surprising him, after all these years, but he supposed one could not control the subconscious mind. He would walk into town in all his glory, showering these unworthy peasants of the honor of his presence. They would stop their work to gaze upon this God among Men, so beautiful, so strong, and forever young that it seemed like the world would stand still just to admire him. _

_And then he would come in._

_Their face was the same, yet the frame was that of a boy's; lanky and unsure of itself, yet with the confidence that came with true youth. Raven black hair would soak up the sun's rays, deep green eyes sparkling with excitement as he ran towards _her_. Reaver would always follow, pride wounded that of all the villagers here, only this tiny boy denied to worship him. He watched as the boy crossed the covered bridge and down the other side, stopping at the tiny cottage with the stable just outside. He wore a face of poorly masked nervousness, and the shuffling of his feet would have been adorable to anyone watching other than himself. The boy lifted a hand as if to knock on the door, then hesitated, fiddling around with something in his pocket. Reaver knew what the boy was thinking, remembered it word for word, "_You are the light to my shadow, the stars to my sky, please, say you'll be mine forever..._" Confident that he knew what to say, the boy knocked, though still looking nervous._

_He would see this scene a hundreds of times and still the image of her face would send ripples through his soul. The door opened and beyond it was a beauty beyond measure. Soft brown hair would drape around elegant shoulders, exposed slightly from the over-sized blouse she always wore. Blue-green eyes lit up at the sight of the boy, cherry blossom lips curling into a perfect smile. In the dimness of the cottage, faint Will lines could be seen tracing her chest and right cheek, like some other-worldly angel gracing those of the mortal realm. She spoke, and Reaver's heart broke, "Adrian! I was wondering when you'd get here."_

_"I...I...!" The fool was stammering, the words he'd practiced so hard strangling him. Reaver remembered a time when he used to shout those words at him, to scream them at the top of his lungs, but in this reality he did not exists, not to these lovers lost in time. _

_Placing both hands on her hips, the girl would say, "Are you feeling well? How many times have I told you to stay home if you can't work with the horses today?"_

_Then with a boldness young Adrian grabbed the womans hands, almost falling over in his haste to kneel, "Lyanna, I...I know you don't think of me the same, but I can become better! You," he couldn't look into those eyes, "You are the light to my shadow, the stars to my sky, please...?" He could continue no more, afraid of the rejection that was sure to follow. _

_Instead he felt warm arms drape around his neck, and when he looked up the angel had embraced him. A half sob, half laugh chimed from her voice, "You fool of a man; of course if feel the same! I was just waiting for you to come to your senses!"_

_"T-then you'll...?" Their eyes met, and she nodded. Smiling, Adrian reached into his pocket, fishing out a tiny gold band. Lyanna lit up, tears in her eyes, then tackled the boy to the ground, showering him with sweet kisses._

_Reaver watched it all, a cold stone developing in his heart. What would happen next no longer surprised him, however the fear would never go away. _

_It was some years later, and the once quite hamlet was now ablaze, the night a melody of screams. The blood of the villagers drenched the ground, so much so Reaver thought he would drown in it. Darkness so thick he thought it would consume him blocked out any hope of light, as if the world was void of color itself. And the demons; the demons who stalked and killed all that lay in their path. Women, children, men of all ages; it did not matter. The price for immortality was all-consuming, and it would be paid in full. It was here in the dream that his younger self would re-appear, face haggard with grief and guilt, as he whispered such things as, "No...this isn't what I wanted...!" A scream from a voice that should never utter the sound permiatted the chaos, and his heart sank. Reaver would run along side young Adrian, even though he knew what he would find, always hoping to get there just a second sooner._

_It was always in vain, however, and it was always more and more painful as the years went by. A shadow, in the shape of a man, would be holding a babe. His babe, by the leg, the tiny thing wailing into the night as its mother was held back by two others. A cry would tear from both his and Adrian's lips, but before either one could reach the shadow would smash the babe against the house, leaving nothing but a bloody stain. The cry he heard next would tear his soul for centuries, and as he turned to find the source he would watch as ghostly blades pierced the heart of his beloved. Blinded by rage and regret, Reaver would draw his pistol to destroy the ghostly shadows, but to no avail. He would watch as young Adrian fought with nothing but his hands, then fall to the ground defeated. The last thing he would hear would be the taunting chant of the shadows as the returned once more to their Court, "The debt has been paid...for the deal that you've made...the debt has been paid..."_

_Reaver...?_

_A new voice, however somewhat familiar._

"Reaver, are you awake?"

_Who was this Reaver? He didn't know, but the voice sounded familiar, a hint of concern behind its sweet tones. He lifted an arm, reaching for her, _"Lyanna?" He opened his eyes to meet sparkling blue ones, however they were not the same. The face had seen to much hardship, to much death to be that of _her's_. The world, and all he'd done to it, flooded into him like a flash flood into an aired land.

Sparrow raised an eyebrow, "What did you call me?"

Reaver coughed, sat up, and stretched his back, fully aware that he had spent the night on the cold, hard ground. It was morning, from what he could tell, the fog a thick gray color that told him today's travels would just be marvelous. He could feel Sparrow's gaze on him, and he gave her his trademark smirk, "If you don't stop staring at me so, Sparrow dear, I'll have to charge you a gold piece for each minute that passes by."

"You...!" Standing abruptly, he contained a giggle as she stormed across the camp, refusing to meet his gaze. It was quite clear that she had been awake for some time now, what with the camp practically vanished save for his own bedroll. His own belongings were packed neatly near the bottom of his mat, the hilt of his cutlass visible over the bag's flap. The dog barked happily, apparently eager to get going, now that both human's were awake. Reaver rolled to his side, got to his knees, and began to roll up his sleeping place as tightly as he could.

Once he'd finished and tied it to the bottom of his bag, Reaver chirped, "What a lovely day for more near-death travels, don't you agree?" She didn't answer him, to his surprise she didn't so much as glance at him. Sparrow simply flung her bag across her back and began walking.

After following in silence, Reaver asked, "I would have thought you more of a morning person, my dear."

"Forgive me if I seem rude, but I'd rather not run the risk of being charged just for interacting with someone," Sparrow said flatly, keeping her eyes ahead.

Reaver laughed, "Oh Little Sparrow, I said I'd charge you to look, not talk. Why, I believe I'd go quite mad if I didn't have someone to which my stories could enrich their lives."

"Really? Then I don't have to talk after all, seeing as your so keen on doing all the work."

"Alas, my heart would just shatter at the absence of your witty banter." Reaver then notice she had stopped walking. He raised an eyebrow that she no doubt didn't see, "Is there a problem?"

"I was just..." Sparrow turned, a strange look on her face, "Reaver, once we cross this stone bridge, we'll be in Oak-"

He raised a hand to stop her, "Trust me my dear, I've been venturing into these marshes since before you're parents were born. I will be fine, now I believe we should continue, least the moss start growing on our boots."

As predicted, they reached the ruin of Oakville in less than an hour, and despite what he had told the girl, the bones of his former existence sent chills up his spine. Drowned beneath gallons of mud and water rested the evidence of what he'd done; it was the sunken womb to which Reaver was born. Most of it had been claimed by the sea, what little remained was sure to follow within the next few years or so. The mist that floated over the water seemed like a ghostly seal, keeping all who would try to escape the drowning nightmare locked forever within its grasp. Reaver would not look at it, but he could feel it watching him, and something much worse as they began to cross the remnants of the covered bridge. His eyes would begin playing tricks on him, and for a second he could see it as it once were, two tiny children running through its openings, pretending it were a castle. Then just as quickly the reality of what it was would return, and just as quickly he would grow cold again.

The dirt made a funny squishing noise as they touched the other side; it had always amused him at how the marsh's rains had no dictation of where they would fall. He guessed it was suitable for the area to be a constant site of rain, as if those who had lost their lives here still cried upon its ground. The clouds even seemed darker as his eyes trailed to the black castle that loomed beside them. A shudder ran through him, and he was glad that Sparrow had decided not to look at him. Every step he took past the dark temple his pulse would rise, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. How annoyingly humbling this place was for him, angry at the stone halls for reminding him what pain and grief and fear felt to those who were mortal.

Ice.

Suddenly everything was ice, and he could not move. He watched with dread as it seemed Sparrow and her dog were getting farther and farther away, while he stayed paralyzed to the ground. He tried to cry out, but as he opened his mouth dark tendrils of shadow crept down his throat, utterly destroying any chance of his voice being heard. He felt his head going giddy as he looked at the substance that held him in place, crawling up and through his skin, _It looks like ink..._

Sparrow turned, disturbed by the lack of footfalls behind her. What she saw created a terror inside her that she had never witnessed before. Reaver stood, or was being held, with his arms out and head tilted almost to the point she was sure it had snapped. This dark...ooze was coursing around him, pulsing as if alive, draining all around it of life. She remembered crying out his name, and then nothing, as she too was swallowed by the unrelenting darkness...

**Reaver: A cliffhanger, truly? I say, that's rather cruel of you.**

**Me: Yeah, well, I thought the chapter would be to big if I didn't stop here.**

**Reaver: It envolves me, dear; nothing is to big when it envolves Reaver.**

**Sparrow: How about that ego of yours?**

**Reaver: Honestly I believe it could be better. Care to help me with that...ladies?**

**Me: OKAY! WE'RE DONE!  
**


	8. Shot in the Dark

**Secrets**

**By Lindsay R. Honosky**

**Chapter Eight: Shot in the Dark**

**Hm, seems some of my underlines and centered text don't want to work right. Pity...ANYWAY! Thank you for staying with this story so far; the gratitude I feel for all of you is immeasurable. Now onto this chapter.**

**I have to say this one makes me nervous. I like it, and had fun righting it, but the same thought kept poking me in the brain, screaming, "That wouldn't happen!" So, well, here I am with fingers crossed, hoping this is acceptable. Well, I guess I'll find out after you, my dear readers, read and review it. I welcome all kinds of critique (good or bad), and would love to learn more about this beta thing everyone is telling me about, lol. Alright, I'm gonna stop talking now and let you guys read!**

Nothing. She had turned to nothing. There was no heat, no cold, no light, no dark.

Just nothing.

She forgot who she was, slowing drifting in this purgatory until every last scrap of her essence was lost within. She knew not how long she had been trapped within its clutches, only that it was to long, and madness threatened to seize her, dragging her down deeper into the darkness.

_Sparrow..._

A voice, that's what that was. The sound that echoed around her.

_Get up, little Sparrow..._

Not just a sound, but a name. Her name. She was Sparrow.

She saw herself, a tall woman with brown hair and dark blue eyes. Memories of what and who she was came flooding into her, like the tides crashing against a cliff wall. She gasped, remembering how to breath, and as her eyes opened the darkness slowly dissipated. The room was cold, and she was laying on hard stone. In the distance the faint glow of candlelight could be seen, the shadows it created a terrifying sight to rival that of her darkest nightmares. And yet this place seemed familiar, like something out of a dream.

Then it hit her like a blow to the stomach. This was the Shadow Court. They had been taken, by some demonic ooze, and they were in grave danger. Looking around Sparrow saw no sign of either Jack nor Reaver, yet she remembered seeing the man being overtaken as she had. The thought crossed her mind to just leave; perhaps she could get away without the shadow's noticing. Then the thought turned to bile in her stomach, and standing she looked down the dark corridor that she knew would lead to the main hall, her pistol in hand.

The temple was suspiciously void of any of the shadow demons she'd fought on her previous visit. Instead the halls held a suffocating air of loathing, as if her every step were trespassing upon their emptiness. Her eyes darted nervously from one corner to the other, keeping her ears open for any type of sound. She prayed to whatever God there was that Jack was safe outside. She reached the final staircase, cold air buffeting her viciously, as if trying to penetrate the very bones within her. Steeling herself, Sparrow began her decent, pistol at the ready.

She stopped before rounding the corner, body having gone ridged after hearing the horrible whispers of the damned.

_A foolish man came to our Court_

_Wishing to live forever more_

_Into the shadow's depths he crept_

_While his beloved slept_

_And now to us he has returned_

_After loosing his wife_

_and village burned._

_For even if he lives forever_

_we will keep that which he treasures._

There was a horrible gurgling noise, as if someone were drowning, and fear clenched at her stomach like the hands of a monster. The poem kept repeating over and over, like a haunting song, taunting the man she knew she'd find once she rounded the corner. Taking a deep breath, Sparrow readied her weapon, and stepped around into the main hall.

What she saw would have made any normal person scream, and she was not to far from doing so herself. The three figures she had seen before had changed, morphed into three horrible creatures with a face on either side of its middle one, eyes empty in their sockets; nothing but darkness poured from the empty holes. They mouths, or what she thought were mouths, were sharp looking fangs, or tentacles, that dangled down to the creatures' chests, their hands similarly sharp and foreboding. The red light from the chandelier only made the haunting figures all that more menacing, as if they were spawned from the very depths of hell. Then she tore her eyes from the creatures, and there she found Reaver. He was still suspended in air, though it seemed the darkness that surrounded him was nearly consuming his body. Black tears ran from his eyes, out of his mouth, nose, and ears, and utterly veiled his lower body. Sparrow bit her lip, wondering what she was going to do...

Before she could think, dark tendrils tried to grab her from the side, snaking their way up her legs. With a surprised shriek she would later become embarrassed over, Sparrow quickly drew her sword and cut at the dark fingers, rolling away as fast as she could. Chilling laughter could be heard behind her, and her heart froze.

The creatures stared at her with that impenetrable darkness, and spoke, "_Creator of our end, desecrator of our halls,_" three clawed fingers rose in unison to point at her, "_tell us now your purpose here, or begone."_

Sparrow tried to look braver, though she knew by the clinking of her weapons she was shaking, "I've come to take back Reaver."

There was a loud angry hiss, "_He is OURS! The shadows consume him, as the will consume all else!"_

"The debt was paid recently, if I'm not mistaken." Sparrow began to pace, inching her way closer and closer to Reaver, who was now convulsing in pain. She kept her eye on the creatures upon the dais, "Your agreement has been met; I shall take him now."

"_And what is to stop ups from keeping you both? You, harbinger of our destruction, mother of our end."_

Sparrow flourished her pistol, feeling better having the weapon in her hand, "Look, I don't know what all this 'mother of our end' nonsense you're talking about, but I do know that you're coming short on your end of the bargain." She pointed her pistol to Reaver, "He's already paid in full for this year; you have no right to him."

"_You shall both belong to the shadows!_"

"I see, well then...!" As fast as she could Sparrow turned, aimed for the chain holding the chandelier, and shot, sparks flying as the two metals kissed. The golden metal came crashing down before the creatures, the fire of the candles consuming them as easily as paper. Their shrieks echoed through the empty halls and pierced her skull, and for a moment she feared she would go deaf. Then she heard a loud thump, followed by horrible coughing. Sparrow turned towards Reaver, watching as the last of the darkness crept away back into the stone. She skidded on her knees, coming to a stop only a few inches away from him. She reached out her hands, trying to grab his shoulders, "Reaver...?"

"Don't touch me!" He shouted, slapping her hands away. Traces of the dark tears stained his face, enhancing the look of rage upon it, "Why are you here?"

His words stung her, but her pride made her shout back, "To rescue you, you ungrateful bastard!"

"You are far more of an idiot than I thought!" This time his hand were on her shoulders, and he shook her furiously, "You could have gotten yourself killed! Or worse!"

"You're hurting me, you idiot!"

"I should kill you!"

"That'd be a bit counter-productive, don't you think?"

"It would save me a headache or two!"

"I could say the same!"

"Idiotic child!"

"Lecherous old man!"

They paused, scowling at each other. Then in an instant their mouths were locked, so hard Sparrow knew not if it had been her lip that split or his. Anger and fear slowly melted away into weakening relief, her mind reeling as her mouth opened to his. For a while a small battle for dominance waged between them, but just as quickly Sparrow gasped and pushed him away, eyes wide with shock. He landed a few inches form her, licking his lips as if he'd just finished eating a sweet dessert. She stood, turned away from him, and grew ridged, "Well, you're alive. Let's get out of here quickly, least they come back."

She could feel him standing, coming closer to her, "My my, I wonder where that came from."

She clenched her fists, "Nowhere! Absolutely, positively nowhere!" She marched forward, refusing to look at him.

He laughed gently, "It certainly didn't seem to come out of 'nowhere', as you so elegantly put it. A shame it takes such horrid surroundings to spark such a passionate kiss."

She turned on him, eyes ablaze, "It was _you_ who kissed _me, _Reaver! Let's not confuse things."

He eyed her luridly, "Certainly not. If I were the one to kiss you, it would have been much more refined. You're rather sloppy, little Sparrow." She reached out a hand to slap him, but he caught it before it even came close to her target, "May I say, dear Sparrow, that you turn such a lovely shade of red when angered." He brought her fingers to his lips, kissing them lightly, "Forgive me. You came to save me and did so quite beautifully; I should not have turned on you so." The wolfish grin he flashed her made her stomach flip.

Jerking her hand away, she continued on, quickening her pace, "Don't think the thought to leave you behind didn't occur to me."

He shrugged, though he doubted she noticed, "Of course. Most would do the same. It takes one with an extreme lack of intelligence to willingly venture further into this place."

She raised an eyebrow, "Oh? You mean someone like you?"

He laughed, the rich tone a welcome change to the eerie silence, "I suppose so! However my thoughts before venturing here were somewhere along the lines of 'die now or die later'."

"A grim outlook."

"Indeed."

"Reaver?" She stopped suddenly, almost causing her follower to collide with her back.

He came to stand beside her in the chamber before he exit, wishing to stop these delays, however amusing they were, "Yes?"

"The chant those things were singing. It was about you, wasn't it?"

He was silent for a moment, his face dropping, "Yes. Yes it was."

"I'm sorry."

"For events that happened long before you were born?" He was smiling again, but Sparrow could tell it was forced, "Think nothing of it. The only time I do is in my dreams. Now," he clapped his hands, "let's see if that dog of yours hasn't been eaten by some Banshee or worse."

"I don't believe you. There's still a part of you that remains unburied, that is still raw."

He sighed deeply, resting his hand on the cold stone door, "Perhaps you are correct, little Sparrow. But now is not the time for such discussions, and I grow weary of this place." Pushing the doors open, warm, stagnate air assaulted them; nothing had ever felt more pleasant. A happy bark echoed from the left, and as Sparrow stepped into the marsh Jack showered her with kisses, the reunion serenaded by Reaver's angry curses as he found his bag three inches sunk in mud.

* * *

The cullis gate looked old and broken, but Sparrow had read Garth's research on how they worked, and began to gather her will around the three of them, sweat beading from concentration. The stink of the marsh, combined with the corpses of the bandits who were foolish enough to attack them made concentration nearly impossible, and the constant chatter of the demon door didn't help either. Despite all the distractions, Sparrow finally felt that tiny tingle, like a small piece of ice in the back of her mind that signaled the gate was open. Closing her eyes, Sparrow released the built-up will power, and the three disappeared in circling blue light.

When she reopened her eyes she found herself atop Garth's tower, Reaver appearing shortly after Jack. The sun was barely raising over the mountains, and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Sparrow suddenly felt very old, every fiber of her being sore and tired. She looked at Reaver and wondered what Garth would have to say about Reaver spending the night in his tower? Then again, she owned it now, so he really had no room for argument. Motioning her companions to follow, Sparrow said, "Come on. There are dry beds inside."

"So this is the fabled Brightwood Tower? You know, I never had an interest in exploring its secrets." Reaver said, eyes roaming the ground with a critical air.

"Probably for the better. You might have ended up a burning corpse if Garth had caught you."

"And are you so certain that _I_ would not leave him in such a state?"

"Seeing as your weapon of choice is a pistol, no, I don't." She smiled sweetly at him, "Maybe if you got the jump on him you could give him an extra hole or two."

"I met him in Samarkand, you know. The encounter was less than pleasant."

She stopped, anger flaring once more in her eyes, "You didn't...?"

"Kill him?" He shrugged, smiling mischievously, "Who can say? I left him bruised and bloodied; more bloodied than bruised, if I do say so, and had to leave to quickly to learn the specifics of his dire condition."

"But...why? I knew you two weren't exactly compatible or chummy, but to kill him? What did he do?"

"I was bored."

She stood there, stunned into silence, "You...you were bored?"

"Yes, is that so hard to believe?" Jack began whining behind him, as if he understood what was being said and mourned the passing of the magician.

Sparrow shook her head, "Yes, it is! And I don't believe you at all." She walked towards him, stabbing a finger to his chest, "For one thing, I'm sure this is all just a story to either feed your ego or fool me, or both! Secondly, there's no way someone like Garth could be so easily bested by some bored pirate, who was probably drunk, and then I not hearing about it."

Reaver's annoyance was peaking, "Oh? And what makes you so sure you would have heard anything at all?"

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, "Please! A battle between two Fated Heroes in a far away land? A battle that _you_ fought? I'd think the rumors you spread alone would have been enough to announce his death to every corner of the world."

"I'm hurt that you think I need rumors in order to spread my greatness."

She huffed, blowing stray strands of hair from her face, "Because everything said about you is true, correct?"

White teeth flashed behind that wolfish grin, "Of course," with speed unimaginable Reaver had pinned Sparrow against the stone wall, pressing her hard between it and himself. She let out a shocked gasp, and Reaver laughed mockingly, "Shall I give you an example of some of my more desirable talents?"

"R-Reaver," Sparrow struggled to get her hands free, but they were pinned to her sides, "we had a deal!"

"As I remember it, our agreement was I would not touch you whilst we transverse the marsh. Well," he leaned in closer, his face dangerously close to her's, "I do believe we are quite out of the marsh, wouldn't you agree?"

"I...!"

He inched closer, their breath mingling together, "You saved my life, little Sparrow. I'm not a man who likes being in debt to others. Allow me to repay you in full."

She laughed, the sound being more of a weak shudder, "Can't you just say I owe you less gold?" Her answer was a light kiss on her nose, a ghosting of lips on hers, and she closed her eyes and gasped as gentle kisses landed softly on her neck. "Reaver...!"

He hushed her, nipping playfully at the soft flesh beneath her delicate jaw. Her gasp sent thrills coursing through his body, renewing him in that delightfully familiar way. Reaver laughed huskily as Sparrow's breath hitched in her throat; such a sensitive creature young Sparrow was. His tongue traced the outline of her ear, and he could feel her shuddering against him.

Sparrow noticed his hands had fallen from her sides, her heart racing as she saw their target. They were already at work on her bodice strings, her face turning to fire. As quickly as her weak limbs would allow, Sparrow grabbed his hands, her voice almost a whisper, "Please, Reaver, don't do this."

He looked up, face a mixture of confusion and annoyance, "May I ask why you intend on refusing me so? If I'm not mistaken you were clearly enjoying the moment."

She smiled at him, an expression that caught him off guard. How long had it been since someone wore that smile for him? She put his hands together, holding them in place, "Reaver, we just went through something utterly terrifying." She released one of his hands and held up her own, so to stop his protest, "I know you'll deny it, and maybe you weren't truly terrified, but I know for certain I was. I'm not thinking in my right mind right now, and I'm sure a lack of sleep will do the same to you, so I propose we both go to sleep now and see how we feel on the morrow."

"You're underestimating me again-"

Sparrow laughed, then spun away from his hold, slipping into the doorway, "You have to listen to me now, don't you?" She winked at him, "You owe me now, remember." She spotted the nice, warm, most amazing looking bed she had seen in ages, or at least how she felt after the marsh, and turned down the blankets. Reaver walked in as she was kicking off her boots, feeling every muscle as she climbed beneath the soft material.

As he walked by, Reaver snapped, "You are a cruel woman, Sparrow. I was right about calling you a heart-breaker." However his words fell on deaf ears, as Sparrow had already slipped off into a deep sleep.


	9. Murphey's Law

**Secrets**

**By Lindsay R. Honosky**

**Chapter Nine: Murphey's Law**

**Dear Science it's almost five in the morning! Anyway! Sorry for the long wait; I couldn't figure out how I wanted this chapter to go, but thanks to my good friend Shepard I got the wheel's a turnin', lol. Thank you all for sticking with this story for so long; I'm glad I could write something you enjoy. I just hope I keep doing a good job, lol.**

**On a side note, at the end of this story I'm going to put an epilogue for my next, and it's going to be based in Fable 3, so if you don't like it I wouldn't read it, lol. Honestly I don't know why I like the third one so much myself; I blame the shameless fangirl. PLEASE TAKE MY MONEY FABLE~**

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It was strange to awake as the sun went to sleep, and as Sparrow looked out the open doorway she watched its last moments before disappearing beyond the purple-blue sky. She sighed contently, leaning back against the pillow, wanting nothing more than to drift back to sleep. Perhaps they could sleep in for the night, and head towards Bowerstone in the morning? Certainly there would be less threat of bandits, hobbes, and other undesirable creatures should they wait for the sun to accompany them. Then again, Bowerstone was only a few miles away; they could be there in a day or two if they hurried.

A strange feeling started to nibble at the corners of her mind, and Sparrow frowned as she realized she was dreading this trip's end. Of all the silly things; why on earth would she want to keep fighting, sleeping on cold ground, eating dried or salted food, and having to deal with the company of a nymphomaniac? It couldn't be any more ludicrous! It wasn't as if she had _feelings_ for the deviant; no, what a silly thought. How could she fall for a man so egoistical? So self-centered, who had no respect for common decency or privacy?

...How could she fall for such a man?

Sparrow bit back the smile that was growing on her face, berating herself for thinking such ridiculous things. There was no way what she felt was _love_. Attraction, yes, she would admit to that. You'd have to be a fool not to be pulled towards the man's magnetic smile, his charming laugh, the way he carried himself with such arrogant assurance. Surely that was it; along with a dry streak of romance who's days she had lost count. _He wants to sleep with me..._Sparrow felt her cheeks burning as her mind displayed such naughty images before her eyes, and once again she disciplined herself. This would not do; they were Heroes, and Heroes were supposed to set an example. Though, she supposed Reaver had never really been concerned whether he was setting the _right_ example. As she thought about it more, she never really heard him brag of his Hero blood. In fact, she was sure most if not all the tales told of him omitted that very detail. She wondered why, giving that it would be an extremely high status boost...then again, maybe it wouldn't be. Being a Hero was a double-edged sword; people could love you, but they could also fear you, hate you for being "better" than they. Thoughts like these often made her wonder what life must have been like, all those years ago when she and the other three Heroes would not have been such an oddity. Would they have been arrogant, selfish beings who demanded respect and power? Or would they have earned it through hard work, protecting the people and their self-interests for the greater good?

Something told Sparrow she wouldn't want anything to do with either.

The sound of footsteps echoed lightly through the wooden floor, and her chance to go back to sleep escaped. Not that she didn't trust Reaver...well, she didn't trust Reaver, (but she was pretty sure he wouldn't try anything in her sleep), Sparrow kicked back the blankets one last time, sucking in a hard breath as the cold air hit her bare arms and legs. Quickly sliding her feet into her thigh-highs, Sparrow began to walk up the stairs, wishing she had grabbed her coat.

Not to her surprise Reaver was already fully dressed, his hair styled neatly and his boots shining in the candle-light. He noticed her and smiled, studying one of the many candles along the stone walls, "I assume these are magically activated?"

"Oh, yes," Sparrow put her hand to the wall, feeling a small amount of warmth emanating from it. The magic that flowed through this place was awe-inspiring, and she wondered why it had taken her so long to notice. To be fair, however, most of her visits had involved fighting for her life, not taking in the finer points of its architecture. She heard Reaver coming closer to her, stopping to stand beside her, "The candles activate once the sun goes down, and the wicks are magically augmented so they last twice as long."

"Amazing...!"

She was surprised to see actual curiousity on his face. He held his chin in one hand while biting the tip of his thumb with the other, the pearl white teeth standing out brilliantly against the brown of his gloves. Sparrow looked away quickly, hoping he didn't notice her study of him. She instead grabbed his other hand and placed it on the wall as she had, "Can you feel that?"

"I'm wearing gloves-Oh!" His smile widened, and in his eyes was a hint of boyish curiosity. She wondered how many times that spark had been there, back when he really was just a boy with wild green eyes. Reaver stepped back, looking the wall up and down, "Simply amazing! I'd always had a fascination with magic; it was one of the things I could never do."

"Don't feel bad; I was eighteen when I first used it."

"It must be amazing; being able to bend the elements to your will. Conjuring weapons out of thin air to strike down your enemies..." He looked thoughtful for a moment, "Though, there is nothing sweeter than the kick of a finely crafted firearm, or the feel of a master blacksmith's work of steel."

"Were you alive before guns were made?"

He feigned offense, "My dear Sparrow! Just how old do you think I am?"

"Sometimes I doubt you really are immortal, what with you're moods ever changing like the tides." She crossed her arms, the corner of her mouth raising, "And please don't take offense to that, _Reaver dear_, for I'm sure you can sense the truth in my words."

He crossed his arms, locking eyes with her. She'd never really noticed how much taller he was than her, "So I'm more tumultuous than an adolescent girl, am I?"

"I wouldn't say that. Perhaps more along the lines of an aging woman who's finally reached _that time_." She leaned back against the wall, her smirk widening.

Reaver stared her down, the smallest flicker of a smile at the edge of his lips, "Now that _is_ insulting. I'll have you know I'm nowhere near the age for such a horrible transformation!"

"Oh?" Sparrow raised an eyebrow, "And just how old are you supposed to be, anyway?"

"How old do you think I am?"

"Do you want an educated guess, or the visual assumption?"

"The latter, if you please."

"Thirty-six."

His head went back, a bark of laughter echoing through the tower, "Close. I was shooting more for thirty-two."

She frowned, her eyes dropping from his for a moment, "So when is your designated age?"

He sighed, joining her up against the wall, "I believe the highest I've even gotten was fifty. And that," he put his hand to his face, rubbing his nose between thumb and forefinger, "was a very long time ago."

Sparrow noticed how tired he looked and sighed, "You don't have to tell me..."

"It was the first time I had to go back..." he slid to the floor, eyes hidden beneath brown locks, "...go back to _them_." If he had noticed Sparrow joining him on the floor, he showed no sign, and instead took in a deep breath, "I don't know how I knew what I was supposed to do, but there you have it. I was just returning to shore after working on a trader's barge for a few months. Being out to sea...it helped me forget all the things I had done." He laughed bitterly, "Apparently that was not to be the case. I still remember the shock I felt when the Dark Seal appeared on my desk." He twirled a piece of his hair, his face absent of emotion, "I had thought, since my appearance had rarely changed in twenty-eight years, that the destruction I wrought upon my home would have been a sufficient price. I suppose that was just wishful thinking...I still don't know how I knew what needed to be done..." Reaver's voice trailed off, and for an eternity the tower was silent.

Sparrow stood, stretching her back. She looked down on him, her hand outstretched, "Come on, let's explore the tower grounds a bit; you're a bit unsettling if you're not flashing that ridiculous smile."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

For a long time he just looked at her hand, off in his own world. His head dipped for a moment, and Sparrow was sure he would refuse her, but as his face resurfaced that trademark grin was shining upon it, "Very well, Sparrow dear, as you wish." He grabbed her hand, allowing himself to be pulled up from the floor. His smile grew as he caught the faintest hint of a blush on little Sparrow's face, but decided not to tease her about it. Instead he allowed himself to be escorted, by hand, down and around the tower to a charming little sitting area in the garden, over looking the lake.

In the middle stood a grand oak tree, a few benches laid parallel to each other on both sides. Green shrubbery lined the walls of the tower and along the cliff base and walkway, causing the area to appear like a tiny green room. At the corner were statues older than he was, ivy reaching up around them in a tight embrace. Sparsh lantern light could be seen shimmering through the bushes' leaves, making it look as if they were a grand city filled with tiny little houses. The wind blew gently, causing the familiar sound of water gently gracing land by the lake, and as Reaver looked up at the stars a sweet calm washed over him.

"Hey yew!"

And like his calm was shattered, replaced by a horrible voice that shouted at them from across the lake. Scanning the waterfront his eyes finally rested on a tiny island, a small ruin of some old fortress poking out of it like a thorn in someone's thumb. Along the shore of said island was a tiny fire, and by that fire looked to be a man. Reaver squinted his eyes, as if that would allow him to see at greater distances, "Sparrow, dear, do you know who that might be?"

She shrugged, clearly amused, "I don't know; a squatter, perhaps?" Sparrow began to walk down the tiny path, smiling, "Let's go find out."

"Or let's just shoot him and be done with it."

"You have serious issues with trespassers."

"And you,my dear, have no issues with them at all."

"I have issues with shooting random people for no apparent reason."

He laughed at that, "Why, my dear, I believe that's half the reason I've lived so long." He gained no response, save the soft crunching of pebbles beneath his boots. Looking once more towards the tiny island, Reaver pointed and shouted, "You there! Come here so we may have a word with you!"

Sparrow giggled, "What are we, his parents?"

"I believe my gun will discipline him, should the need arise."

The man could be faintly seen crossing his arms, "Oh aye, I'm so scared! What're ya gonnae do? Shoot me?"

"Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind, you ignorant pauper!"

Sparrow sighed, "Ignore him! Might I ask who you are?"

"Oh no, you're not gettin' nothin' outae me!" The man leaned down, long hair falling to his knees, "I know who you are, and donnae think you're about tae trick me!"

Reaver drew his pistol, the hammer clicking into place, "I will ask politely again, Sparrow dear, may I please shoot him and rid the world of his existence."

He yelped as cold water splashed against his leg, an annoyed sigh quickly following as he watched Sparrow swim across the water. _And I'd just freshened up too, _he thought, regretfully unbuttoning his cape and vest, then undoing his cravat. Sparrow had reached the other shore by the time his gloves and boots lay strewn across the opposite shore, and he cursed explosively as cool water engulfed his body. This man would pay for this, Reaver swore, smiling as he pictured all the wonderful ways to kill him.

Reaver hated pebbled shores, and would be sure to add that to the pain he was about to inflict on this person. Sparrow must have seen something in his eyes, for she held out her arm as if to hold him back, "Calm down and listen, will you?"

"Yeah, calm down, ya trigger happy dandy." The peasant wore a smile that was _much _to arrogant for Reaver's taste. Bright green eyes taunted him from beneath a pauper's hat, bits and pieces of rags patching holes that must have been created by rats. His clothes were a rag-tag assortment of shirts, vests, and whatever pants he assumed the man found on the road. No shoes adorned his feet, yet he was surprised to see how clean they looked, though still quite haggard. Living so close to water must have given him ample opportunity to bathe, among other things. Reaver sneered as him mind thought of what "other things" could possibly mean.

Sparrow looked between the two warily, "Sir, I'm sorry but for your own safety I should warn you not to, uh," she held her fingers up in quotations, "pester him."

"Oh, fragile little flower, aren't ya? Well now, if I knew you were such a sensitive little dove I'dae chosen my words with more care!"

The gun was between his eyes, Sparrow's arm rendered utterly useless, "A name, if you would, so I may grace your corpse with the honor of having being created by me."

The man spat, "Oh aye, a _great_ honor. Almost as great as tae be shitted out by Hobbes!"

Reaver's annoyance peaked as Sparrow burst out in laughter beside him. He was about to pull the trigger when Sparrow spoke between breaths, "I...I like this guy. I've never seen you so rilled up."

"That is because most people know better than to insult humanity so."

She shook her head, "Right. Anyway," she turned her attention to the blond man, "would you mind telling _me_ your name?"

The man straightened, smiling, "Aye, I'll tell ya, seein' as it'll probably make fancy boy here pop a blood vessel." Fixing his hat, the man smiled wider, "You, my dear lass, may call me Murfs."

"M-Murfs?" She smiled, clearly amused. It sent a new fire through Reaver, fueling his rage.

"Aye, me name ain't Murfs, just what people call me. Real name be Clinton. Clinton McHugh, but me ma told me I was the child of ol' Murphey himself, what with me bad luck and all. So the name stuck," he looked up, smiling absently, "I guess me accidentally catchin' half the village on fire didn't help none with that whole mess, did it?"

"No," Sparrow laughed, "I guess not."

A vicious smile spread across Reaver's face, "Good, now I know what to carve on your headstone." The gun rose again, the hammer clicking into place...

"Wait!" The man held up his hand, his face changing from an oafish smile to a dark seriousness, "There's something I need tae tell yew!"

Reaver sighed, taking his thumb off the hammer, "Make it quick."

"You look right silly with them fancy clothes of your's all soaked and sticky!"

The shot rang through the night, accompanied by Sparrow's cry of surprise. Reaver holstered his pistol, a satisfied grin spreading across his face, "Now, I feel much better."

The next echo was not as loud as the gunshot, but the snap was just as sharp. Reaver bit back a yelp as Sparrow's hand left his face, the stinging red flesh already developing the image of said hand. She looked at him with a fury Reaver had rarely seen, and for a moment he thought he would need his pistol once more. Then he remembered Sparrow was unarmed, _She has her magic though._ Reaver cursed Will Users across the world.

However, instead of being burned by fire, he was burned by her words, "I don't know who you think you are, but you don't just shoot people for making you angry!"

"My dear, I shall shot whomever I desire, least you forget."

Her fists were clenched, the knuckles bone white, and she was shaking with rage, "I would have thought for someone who feared death so much, they would show the slightest restraint at causing it to others!"

Reaver smiled, "I disagree; that man _clearly_ had a death wish."

Sparrow huffed, crossing her arms, "And you didn't smell the alcohol on his breath? Notice the way he tettered here and there?"

"Have you never heard that people become their true selves when intoxicated?"

"Really? Do you turn into a sniveling coward? Or perhaps you turn to a cold-hearted, selfish murderer?"

Eyebrows furrowed, Reaver snapped, "Sparrow, that man already went across the line. I'd advise you not to do the same."

Sparrow walked past him, her feet splashing lightly in the shallows, "I'm not scared of you, Reaver, like that man; something that _you_ clearly fear." Before he could say something to counter she was already swimming across the lake, her head beneath the water. He followed her, the cold water doing nothing for his simmering mood.

Sparrow stood on the shore, wringing out her hair as she watched him swimming after her. She should have killed him, right then and there, but then what would that make her? No, she wouldn't kill Reaver; he wasn't worth killing. Such a man, no, _thing_ did not deserve such pity. Chewing her bottom lip, Sparrow wondered if he truly were crazy. Was there nothing of the so-called weak man who feared death so much he would beseech shadows to save him? Would that not influence such a man to shy away from such needless bloodshed? Then she wondered if possibly, he challenges all those around him, hoping one day to provoke the right person that just might put him out of his centuries long suffering.

She watched as he walked up to his discarded clothes, white shirt almost clear as it stuck to his chest. Even though the muscles beneath would testify to his strength, all Sparrow saw was a sad, broken man who had forgotten who and what he truly was. Sparrow almost felt pity for him, but then the flicker of poor Murfs fire caught her attention, and she stormed off up the hill.

Pain, inexplicable yet familiar pain shot through her, and before she could react she was on her back, mind reeling. She couldn't breath, and the lanterns in the garden seemed to dim. Before her she heard a bone-chilling laugh, one that haunted her nightmares. But instead of one, there were three, all of them with those hate-filled eyes that only the Spire could create. Sparrow cursed, crying out as pain denied her the ability to stand. The three commandant copies came closer, the leader drawing his sword.

His head exploded into a million tiny bits of blue flesh, the others looking between each other in confusion. The exchange didn't last long, however, as the one to the right suffered a similar fate, followed closely by the last. Footsteps fell softly on the dirt path behind her, and she yelped as pain laced up her arm. She didn't see, but felt Reaver kneel down, "I believe you have a broken wing, little Sparrow."

"S-shut up, Reaver." Trying to stand, Sparrow cried out once more as her left leg seemed to be on fire.

Reaver clicked his tongue, "My, my, and a broken leg as well. Seems you'll never take flight in this condition."

Dots danced before her eyes, "Reaver, please. Leave me alone...Reaver!" His name came out as a surprised shriek, and she flushed at that small moment of weakness. Reaver's arms scooped her up as if he were picking up a pile of clothes. She could tell he was trying to be gentle. Such a confusing man, she thought as he carried her through the garden, "Reaver, please, put me down."

"You are quite the puzzle, Sparrow. Here I am carrying you to a nice, soft bed, a potion awaiting you, and yet you would rather stay out in the cold and suffer." She could barely make out his smile, "If you truly detest my aiding you, then perhaps think of it this way; a life for a life."

Her head began to sway, pain shooting through her leg despite how careful Reaver was, "That...might be true. However, I'm still in debt to you..."

He placed her on the bed she had previously occupied, thankful that the sheets were already drawn. Reaver turned his back to her, heading up the stairs, "Ah, yes, I suppose you do. I'll have to charge you for those bullets I used; all four of them."

"Four?" Her rage renewed as she remembered why the number was even, "Don't you _dare_ assume I'm compensating you for murder!"

His laugh echoed from the upper level, the clinking of glass in the background, "Calm yourself, little Sparrow! One in your state is easily susceptible to unconsciousness!"

Sparrow put her uninjured arm over her eyes, wondering why the fates were so cruel to her.

* * *

**Reaver: Another one of these little episodes? Don't you think their getting a little long in the tooth?  
**

**Me: Like your age?**

***Sound of a gun cocking*  
**

**Sparrow: Reaver, if you shoot her, who will continue the story.**

**Reaver: I'm quite popular amongst the writers here; what's one among thousands?**

**Me: Wow, way to make a girl feel special.**

**Reaver: Oh, you're special, my dear. In all the wrong ways.  
**

**Me: You're one of those grouchy old men who shout at kids from their porch, aren't you?**

Sparrow: Go to bed, Lindsay; I'm not mopping up another mess if he shoots you too.

**(Should I stop these bits of insanity? Please tell me, for I shall post-haste!)  
**


	10. Tales of Yesteryear

**Secrets**

**By Lindsay R. Honosky**

**Chapter Ten: Tales of Yesteryear**

**Well, this is the chapter that's either going to hang me or allow me to continue, lol. There are some steamy bits in the chapter, so don't say I didn't warn you. And this chapter is loooong; extremely long, I might say, and I am so sorry for that -_-. I wanted to make this a ten chapter story, but I guess that's not going to happen, lol. **

**Anyway, thank you all for reading my story, and please send me a review, so I know whether to continue or not, lol. And to WolfCrystal...HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY :D**

**

* * *

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There was an annoying stiffness to her leg that morning, but the potion had done its job (not to mention a good night's sleep). Alchemy had always fascinated Sparrow, but not enough to actually divulge into its minute details. As she passed her time in Brightwood Tower, she had stumbled across a few tomes on the matter, yet she gave most only a passing glance. She was much more interested in Garth's magical journals; detailed schematics on recreating cullis gates, how Demon Doors came to be, how to create cross-dimensional spaces. Most were things Sparrow could only have imagined in dreams, but then what was Will but an extension of one's imagination? As she quietly paced the laboratory, Sparrow wondered how much power one would need to accomplish such feats.

The sun was just barely coming over the mountains when she finished packing her things. Not surprisingly, Reaver had barely made a sound, up in the highest room in the tower. Sparrow wondered if it were truly safe for him to sleep in that bed, what with its strange little adventure cursed into it. She supposed, since he hadn't complained, that "Chesty" was well and gone, only leaving that little trophy behind. Sparrow almost regretting getting rid of the creature; that would have made a wonderful prank to play on the Hero of Skill. She sighed, buttoning her Highwayman's coat to her neck, her sore arm welcoming its warmth. There wasn't a sound to be heard from the room above, and Sparrow knew if she didn't wake him they would be walking to Bowerstone in darkness. She noticed the hatch to the upper room had been left open. Shaking her head, Sparrow began climbing the wooden ladder that lead to the attic, seriously considering just leaving him behind.

The sun crossed the room in golden brilliance, the dust floating in the air causing the space to sparkle in its radiance. The leaves of trees outside cast pleasant shadows across the stone walls, giving the impression that they were painted there in masterful detail. A gentle breeze stirred the air, caressing her cheek. It was going to be a wonderful day, perhaps one of the last before winter fully set in. In the shadows of the balcony's doorway rested a small water bison with a mirror, the ensorcelled bed not far from it, and laying upon it was a sleeping Reaver. Even from this distance she could make out the distressed lines that cornered at his eyes, his mouth drawn and lips white. Unsure if she should wake him, Sparrow continued to watch him, about to climb down the ladder when a scream tore from his lips. It startled her to the point of almost screaming herself, however she quickly gathered herself and went to his bedside, hoping he wouldn't slam her against his bed once more.

Eyes darted behind closed lids, and she could faintly make out a glittering trail where tears had fallen. She frowned, brushing aside a stray lock of hair from between his eyes. Sparrow sat on the edge of the bed, stroking his hair gently, "You are some piece of work, you know that?" He stayed silent, watching a horror she could only imagine, "Here I am, absolutely furious at you for being, well, you," her eyes softened, and she leaned down closer to his face, "and then you start showing signs of humanity that start me asking so many questions about you." Frightened mumbles continued to flow from him, completely unaware of his conversation with Sparrow. She sighed, "I'll get you back for this." She gently kissed his forehead, feeling how feverish his skin was. Reaver moved slightly beneath her, and for a moment she was scared he would wake. Then he said a familiar name, Lyanna or some sort, and continued to mumble, lost in his nightmare. Sparrow rubbed her eyes and stood, walking quietly to the ladder.

"How long have you been standing there?" The hoarseness of his voice worried her, but then she remembered the soul wrenching scream he had just produced moments ago.

Sparrow shrugged, "Not long; I came to wake you."

"I see," he eyed her suspiciously, kicking away the blankets that had previously covered his person. Sparrow had to shy away when she found him dressed in little to nothing but undergarments. He gave her a wicked smile, "Embarrassment is such an adorable look for you, if I do say so." She said nothing as he walked sluggishly towards the sink, eyes not fully focused.

She was about to go down to the lower level when she heard him snicker. She turned, raising an eyebrow, "What is it?"

He was fingering the very spot her lips had graced mere moments before, "And here I thought you would try to _kill_ me in my sleep. How pleased I am to find it to be quite the opposite."

Sparrow felt fire alight in her face, "_I_ don't have the foggiest idea as to what you're talking about, Reaver."

"You're blush would suggest quite a different tale, my dear." He put his hands behind his back, eying her luridly.

She stepped closer to the opening in the floor, "You're eyes must be going bad," she bent down to reach for the first rung, "you are a senior citizen, after all...!"

A shot rang out, and the hatch shut under its force, nearly smacking her hand. Sparrow turned, about to shout, when instead she was surprised to meet deep forest green eyes so close she could feel the heat from his body. He drew closer still, forcing her back against the wall, "I believe this is close enough for your inspection, is it not?"

Sparrow smirked, clearly seeing the lip marks from her pink lipstick, "Perhaps someone snuck in whilst we were sleeping and accosted you?"

"Trust me, little Sparrow," The look he gave her made her stomach do flips, "if it were anything more than a small kiss, I'd have known."

The way they were standing was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, at least for Sparrow, as Reaver was still extremely under-dressed. She put gloved hands between herself and his chest, her laugh sounding weaker than she would have liked, "Reaver, you're very much naked."

He laughed, taking her hands in one of his, "And you are very much not." As quick as lightening her arms were above her head, his face mere inches from her's, "I find that troublesome." Panic threatened to take hold of her as his face inched closer and closer...

Her knee rose to meet his stomach before she even knew what she was doing. Her arms free, Sparrow flung open the hatch, jumping down into the lower level. She could hear Reaver laughing above her between gasps of breath, "Good...good show, little Sparrow! Such an...interesting game...you play...!"

She rolled her eyes, the blush yet to recede from her face, "You'd better catch your breath before you put your clothes on. Wouldn't want you passing out, now!" Jack could be heard barking outside, and Sparrow rushed to greet him, thankful for a task to take her mind off the well carved body she had just immobilized.

* * *

She sat upon the top step leading into the tower's larder, examining the moss covered statue that rested before her. The gates that surrounded this place were on their last legs, however she knew not if she should hire someone to repair them of leave them be. It would be to dangerous to have someone come fix them, what with the bandits and Hobbes that seemed to constantly infest this land. Not to mention the random Spire cast-offs that appeared every now and then. Chills would go up her spine every time she had to look upon the Commandant's cool, malicious face, remembering the pain he had so enjoyed inflicting upon her. She pulled her knees into her chest, griping them tightly as she rested her chin upon her arms, _I wonder how much longer I would have lasted...?_

Jack barked happily beside her, taking her dark thoughts away. She followed his gaze to find Reaver had finally emerged, fully clothed and packed. He gave the dog an annoyed glance as Jack sat down, begging to be petted. Reaver sighed, patting the dog lightly on the head, "There now, leave me alone for the rest of the day." Jack barked, then went to Sparrow's side, resuming his happy tail wagging.

Sparrow turned her back to him and began to walk down the hill, "We need to hurry. Thanks to you we probably won't make it to Bowerstone before the gates close."

"Gates?" He had caught up to her quickly; damn his long legs.

Sparrow shrugged, "The bandit problem had become just to much to handle at night, along with other unsavory visitors. I couldn't tell you how many times I've had to kill Hobbes in some fool's larder."

"Why Sparrow! That sounds much like a task a line to community service." There was a playful tone to his voice that made her cringe.

She frowned, refusing to look at the man who was now at her side, "I may have _accidentally_ blown out a window or two when my magic was still...unstable."

Reaver stepped back, "It is not still in an unstable state, is it?"

She raised a hand, fire engulfing it, "Would you like to find out?"

He laughed, continuing his carefree pace, "No, thank you. I trust in your confidence."

The flame went out, and Sparrow shoved her hands into her pockets, "Shame. I would have loved to show you."

"Are you so violent to all your little crushes? It was cute before, Sparrow dear, but now I believe your little love taps might actually hurt me."

Despite herself, she giggled, "I never thought you'd compare whatever it is we have to a child's teasing game."

"Ah, so you admit there _is_ something!"

"I...!" He walked ahead of her, laughing. Sparrow fought to keep up, "Let's get this straight, right here and now, Reaver. There is _nothing_ between us. Nothing!" He laughed again, and Sparrow growled. Jack just followed along, blissfully unaware of his mistress's most awkward predicament.

The forest of Brightwood was lovely during the day. The sun shown brightly in a pristine sky, light raining down between the now rich reds and yellows of the trees. The white path that lay out before them practically glittered like diamond dust, looking to be a magical road that guided them to their destination. Ruins from people long ago appeared here and there, adding to the groves already mystical feel. A smile came to her face as Sparrow remembered playing in these woods with the gypsy children, on those rare occasions Thereasa would allow it. They reached a tiny fork in the road; to heir left would lead to Bowerstone, to the right Giles Farm. Jack whimpered, sniffing the air hopefully. Sparrow patted his head, "You know where we're going, boy." He barked mournfully; Jack did love chasing Giles's chickens.

She looked back to see how tired Reaver seemed, his eyes squinted even in the shade. Sparrow stopped, "Are you feeling well?"

Reaver seemed to jump slightly, pulled from the world of his thoughts, "Oh? Oh, yes, I'm fine." He raised an eyebrow, "Why do you ask?"

She shrugged, "You just look tired, that's all."

She regretted the words as soon as the flew from her mouth, "Perhaps it's from that late night ravishing you so cruelly did in my sleep?" His smile only grew wider as she stormed off ahead of him.

Sparrow was well ahead of them when she decided to stop and wait, not knowing how long it had been since Reaver's last visit through these woods. Leaning against what looked to be an old stone railing, Sparrow crossed her arms and closed her eyes, listening to the sweet songs of the birds just out of view.

Then she heard a twig snap, and her pistol was drawn before her eyes were even open. Not more than six feet away was one of those cocky Highway Men, his face covered behind a red cloth. She didn't notice any others; troubling, as they usually traveled in groups of three. The hammer of her gun clicked back, and she barked, "Were are your partners?"

"That hurts, love. Aren't I enough?" She gave him a warning shot, right next to his left foot. He held his ground, admirable for scum, "Quick to anger, aren't you?"

She smiled sweetly, her thumb returning to the hammer, "I'll not ask you again."

The man's arm twitched, a desperate attempt to reach for a gun. However before he could even unclasp the holster his head flew into a million pieces, the body falling to the ground with a great thump. She heard Reaver call to her, and she rolled forward just in time to avoid being scissored by two striking katanas. Sparrow cursed, drawing her own blade to parry another Highway Man's follow up strike, hoping Reaver would take care of the other. The startled yelp she heard from behind her opponent confirmed that, and as the dead man's companion turned to see the new incomer, Sparrow flicked his sword away and drove hers through his stomach, the metal sawing through his backbone. He fell to the ground as she wrenched her weapon from him, blood splattering along the road, defiling its pristine brilliance. The man couldn't move, but she was surprised to hear him beg for mercy. As quickly as she could, Sparrow drove her blade into the man's heart, his death rattle eerily silent amidst the trees.

Sunlight hit the gold highlights of Reaver's gun as he holstered it with a flourish. A grim grin adorned his features, and he looked down at the men with distaste, "Amazing that such idiots still exist who would attack two such famous killers as we."

Sparrow flicked her blade, cleaning it of most of the blood in a small rain of crimson. She sighed, feeling tired, "Indeed. However combat is a lucky man's game."

"Lucky for us those lads weren't quite so lucky!" His smile widened, apparently proud of himself.

Sparrow rolled her eyes, saying sarcastically, "What wit you've obtained over the years." She ignored his retort, instead scouting the area. There didn't seem to be any signs of more attackers, however in these woods one could rarely tell. Sometimes the creatons would hide atop the trees, jumping down on the unsuspecting traveler or merchant; most of them unlucky enough not to be around her at that time. Sparrow had lost count of the amount of dead bodies she would find along these roads. Thankfully some of that had calmed down, what with Lucien gone and the need for captured slaves drastically declining, however there were still thieves, like those Highway Men, so she had to keep on her toes. Satisfied there would be no more attackers, Sparrow sheathed her sword and continued on, trying to avoid the bloody puddle beneath her (though her coat was very much covered in the red stuff).

It took them a few more hours to reach a place Sparrow had forgotten; the statue of her, placed in the middle of the next cross-roads. She heard Reaver whistle, and though she tried to sprint by it he caught her by the arm, and amused look glinting in his eye. He nodded towards the marble figure, "Well, well. What a simply spectacular work of art!"

"Let me go, Reaver...!" His hand slid down the length of her arm, grasped her hand, and he twirled her into his chest, wrapping his other arm around her waist. She struggled like a cat trying to be let down, "I'm serious, we're going to be late-!"

"I do hope you pose like that for all your statues, my dear," he interrupted, "though I _must_ say I'd rather see it in person."

"That...that was a long time ago!" Her shout echoed down into the valley, catching the attention of a few passersby. An old couple that went by whispered "What a cute couple", which both infuriated and embarrassed a very caught Sparrow.

Reaver's eyes went up to the statue, then down to her own, then back to the statue, "I don't think it was _very_ long ago. Perhaps ten or so years?"

"I was twenty and stupid, now," she tried to stomp on his foot but missed, cursing.

"I must say I rather approve of your choice in clothing. A simple corset with those lovely little shorts you wear, but what happened to that jacket?" He raised an eyebrow, the shape matching that of his lips, "And I must say that the finger to the lip is an extremely well thought of touch!"

She was becoming breathless, and people were beginning to gather around them to watch, "Reaver, if you don't let me go in the next ten seconds, I'll-!"

"You'll what? Make a more interesting show for our audience?" He leaned closer to her ear and purred, "I wonder what rumors they'll spread, seeing their great Hero in the arms of the King of Pirates?"

Sparrow eyed him with icy daggers, whispering, "I'll scream rape."

Reaver's head flew back, the man practically shaking with laughter. He released her then, resting his previously occupied hand on the dias of the statue. The look on Sparrow's face must have frightened the watchers off, and it probably should have Reaver, but he was no ordinary man. Instead he regained his breath, leaning against the cool stone behind him, "I wonder why it is so hard for you to show me _this_ Sparrow." He emphasized "this", jabbing his thumb towards her likeness.

"Because people grow up, Reaver." She didn't even give him a second glance, merely continued up the hill. She heard his feet crunching in the dirt beneath him, and she imagined it was her ribs she were smashing into the ground. She had asked that stupid artist a million times to change that idiotic statue; that she would pay her twice the amount it had cost to make if she would only get rid of it. Apparently her words went unheeded, and there she stood in all her flirtatious glory; no wonder people around here called her "Dumpling".

Sparrow had barely noticed the sky turning a bright orange, then a deep red, until finally they were clear of the woods entirely. She groaned, the sound seeming to pull the last bit of strength from her body as she hunched over, defeated. Reaver came up beside her, crossing his arms, "Well now, I believe we're going to be quite late to Bowerstone."

She wheeled on him, pointing a finger to his face, "If _you_ hadn't decided to be such a bloody arse back there, maybe we would have been inside the city by now!"

He lowered her finger with his own, "Now now, Sparrow, if one doesn't stop to enjoy the simple things in life, well, what's the point in living?"

She glared at him, "I hope you're ready to go without a meal tonight, since we're quite out of food."

Reaver looked to his left, then to his right, in such a dramatic motion that Sparrow almost punched him, "I do believe this is near Hero Hill, is it not? Do you're little gypsy friends lock up their home at night as well?"

"I'm not taking you anywhere _near_ that place, Reaver!" She crossed her arms, blue eyes like cold flames.

He clicked his tongue at her, turning down the path towards the tiny outpost, "Trust me, Sparrow dear, the last thing I wish to do is pillage some worthless hut to find nothing but dirty socks and a few coppers." She shouted after him but he ignored her, keeping a faster pace on purpose, so she had no chance to stop him.

* * *

Despite her current company, it made Sparrow's heart warm to see the place again. Nothing had changed, not the little huts, not the strings of washed clothes that hung through the camp, not the wild little children running around barefoot, and not the lovely people who had so openly welcomed her to their home. Sparrow sat on her "porch", the old cart she had grown up in remaining the ever decrepit mess she'd left it. Of all the places she had bought and rented, this remained solely her's; and she was thankful for the chief to leave it to her even after her ten year absence. The place was tiny, clearly fit for one person, but it had room enough for two if you really tried, and Jack had always preferred the outdoors anyway. Her tiny white rug that tried to hide years of heel marks was now covered in stains from food and who knew what else, the bed nothing but simple straws with ragged blankets. Sparrow leaned back, taking in the familiar smells of burning tobacco and cooking food. She was home, she thought, a warm smile spreading across her face.

Not to her surprise there was some commotion near the main fire pit, and she watched in annoyance as Reaver chatted up some of the girls she grew up with. They were all staring at him as if he were some sort of God, gracing them with his presence, serenading them with his golden voice. She laughed, wondering how well he would be received if only they knew him as she did. A braver girl (Becky, if her memory served her right) walked up and started dancing before him. She saw Reaver laugh, then take the girl by the hand and twirl her into a waltz; Sparrow could only imagine how hard it was for the poor girl to stay standing.

"I remember you dancing like that, though it was on my toes, and you were much smaller then." A familiar old voice chimed beside her, and Sparrow smiled.

"Duncan! I thought you'd be around here somewhere."

"You can't get rid of ol' Duncan, can ya love?" He smiled behind white whiskers, deep brown eyes sparkling with either joy, inebriation, or both.

Sparrow shook her head, "I'd never dare to try." She moved over slightly, giving the old man room to sit, "How have you been, old man?"

"Same as ever; poor and drunk. But happy, what with the way things are now." He handed her a blue bottle, "I never did get to thank you for saving the world, did I poppet?"

Sparrow held the bottle to her face, eying it curiously, "Green Fairy? That's a rather expensive poison, don't you think?"

"Aye, and worth every penny!" They shared a laugh, a sound Sparrow did not know her heart was missing. The old man calmed, however, and eyed the supposedly young man dancing with another girl by the fire, "I take it you two aren't together, then?"

She shot back the bottle, taking a generous drink before answering, "No, not at all."

"Probably for the best, what with the way he seems to flirt with, well, anything." The old man looked at her more closely, "Is that a spark of jealously I see?"

"Duncan," she sighed, taking another healthy gulp, "I'm not drunk enough for this conversation."

"You will be soon, if you keep putting that stuff away like that." He patted her on the back, "Look at those silly girls, dancing around in those belly shirts; someone should show them how it's done."

Sparrow lifted her bottle, "By all means-!" She hiccuped, the world seeming to swirl around her.

"As grand as that might be, no," he laughed, "I meant you, love. I remember you were the envy of all them fillies back in the day."

Sparrow giggled, "Back in the day, I also didn't have a lecherous pirate watching me."

"I think you'd want him to, darlin'."

The bottle she was holding had somehow become empty, and she eyed it with disappointment, "You know what?" Sparrow's words began to slur, and as she stood the world tilted, "I think I will!"

Duncan laughed, flashing a mouth with maybe one or two good teeth, "That's my girl! Don't forget your outfit, now; I'm sure Sadie left it on you're nightstand." He watched her go into the hut, then laughed louder as the door slammed shut in front of him.

Sparrow had forgotten how sweet the chimes of her skirt were, the tiny silver bells singing with each of her steps. The cool night air felt pleasant on her exposed mid-section, the soft silk sleeves billowing in the winter breeze. Her feet were bare, save a single gold anklet she had bought when she was sixteen; the first thing she had every bought herself. She blushed a little as the men (and some women) watched her walking towards the fire pit with lack-jaw expressions. Was she really so pretty? Who knew, she didn't care; she was to drunk to care. Her eyes fell upon Lionel, who was standing next to Duncan with an all knowing smile. She tilted her head; he knew what song to play. As the lute began a much slower, calming song, Sparrow took her stance.

It took the camp mere moments to quiet down and find her, standing in the shadows of the firelight. She wondered if Reaver knew it was her yet, what with her back arched and her arm curled gracefully over her head. Sparrow had loved to dance; Thereasa had encouraged it, probably to help with her stamina and reflexes. Whatever the reason, Sparrow's heart sang as the drums began to bang, and the lute began to pick up pace. As the flute began to play, Sparrow moved closer to the fire, twirling in a sea of gold and red silks.

Soon enough the camp was clapping in rhythm, her hips causing her skirt to chime in unison. On the tips of her toes she danced and swayed around the fire, feeling as if her body were an extension of the flames. She was in her world now, unable to see the eyes that were so transfixed on her. She kicked up her leg and winked at a man who was taking a drink of beer, the result was him spewing it from his mouth. The crowd roared with laughter as she continued to dance around them, grabbing anyone who wished to join her. She remembered similar nights, nights that seemed forever ago, when she would do this with bells tied in her hair, joining in the revels of her people. The air was cool no longer, and it seems as though she were flying.

The song was ending, and she was nearing the crowd of young women who hid someone from her view. She smirked mischievously, moving her body in time with the music closer and closer until she was before them, twirling on one foot. Then on the last beat of the drum she brought herself down to the ground, he legs split and her head bowed, chest heaving as the crowd cheered and whistled. The girls gave her such hateful looks; Sparrow only smiled at them. As they departed, Sparrow stood before their guarded treasure. Reaver stood, eyes wide in wonder, rendered utterly speechless. Sparrow laughed, flicking a strand of his hair from his nose, "You asked to see a different side of me, did you not?"

He stammered, then cleared his throat, "That...was rather good."

The camp continued their festivities, playing a song that was normally ment for wedding feasts. Sparrow laughed, then gave Reaver a little curtsy, "Well, shall we?"

"Shall we what-?" She grabbed his hands from his side, pulling him into the fray of the other dancing couples. She laughed again, watching his bewildered face as she guided him through the steps of the dance, the beat of the music. It wasn't long before she saw a genuine smile cross his face, and he too joined in her laughter. They twisted and twirled, passing each other off to the next partner, until they were reunited once more. Reaver held out her hand, Sparrow spining out to the full length of her arm. Right as she returned to his embrace the music stopped, and they stared deeply at one another.

Sparrow giggled, burying her head in his chest, "I...I believe I may be drunk."

"Of course you are," he sighed, looking around. He spotted Jack resting beside a small cart; as good a sign as any that that was her 'home'. Reaver leaned her gently out of his embrace, "Shall I walk you home, then?"

She seemed unsure, as if she might wish to dance a bit more. Then she shrugged, grabbing his hand in her's, "Come on then. I'll give you the grand tour." Laughing, she lead him through the crowd, receiving even more heated looks from her previously scorned neighbors.

Once there, Sparrow fell to her familiar seat with an 'oomph!', her legs thanking her for the rest. She sighed, rubbing the gently, "I suppose I am getting a bit old for that."

"I thought you were magnificent," Reaver sat next to her, his eyes distant.

Sparrow leaned against him, closing her eyes, "Thank you."

"No," there was a deep longing in his voice, "thank you, Sparrow."

She leaned up, watching his face. There was something...wrong, a sadness so deep it crushed her, "Reaver...?"

"I had a wife, once. A very long time ago." He looked at her, smiling, "You remind me of her, though I dare say she killed a lot less."

Sparrow shrugged, "What can I say? You do what you're good at."

"Of course," he laughed, looking up into the sky.

She leaned down on his shoulder once more, enjoying his warmth, "Tell me about her."

"I did promise I would, didn't I? It's a rather sobering story, my dear, and you are so pleasantly drunk."

"I doubt I'll remember much of it anyway," she slurred, closing her eyes.

"Hmph," he laughed, "as you wish. Her name was Lyanna; a pure angel among mortals. We grew up together on a farm in Oakvale, and I had idolized her since her first glance at me. She and I were closer than anyone I had ever known, and the day she agreed to be my wife was..." He trailed off, looking at his hands, "was the greatest day of my life. We were married for a few years; during that time we found that I had heroic abilities. She was so proud, even though she too had hero's blood in her."

"Oh?"

"Yes," he smiled sweetly, "she was a healer. Lyanna could not use lethal magicks, but she once pulled a man from the very fire, even after everyone else had given up on him. And she would bloody well help everyone too!" There was an angry annoyance in his voice, and Sparrow looked up with arched brows. He laughed sadly, "She had found a bandit on the road, on the brink of death, or so I'd heard, and dragged him back to our home. She was eight months pregnant, and she brought a damn bandit back from the road with her!"

"You...you had a child?"

"The key word there is _had, _my dear." He brooded over this for a moment, and Sparrow thought he wouldn't continue. However he did, and with a voice that poorly hid the torture behind the words, "The man attacked us in our sleep. He was the reason why...why I wished to become immortal. I just wanted to means to protect them, for as long as the days continued."

"Reaver, what happened?" She sat up, fully awake, staring deeply into his eyes. His lip quivered for a moment, and he had to turn his gaze from her. She frowned, reaching out a hand to touch his face, "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."

"No, I-," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Sparrow, I haven't told this to anyone. Ever. In the entirety of my centuries of life; not a soul." The look on his face brought tears to her eyes, "Not a night has gone by that I haven't relived what I'd done. I race alongside my younger self, just as panicked, just as worried, and just as terrified as I hear her cry from above the hill. I get there just in time to witness the death of my daughter, followed soon by the death of my wife. I fought them, Sparrow, I did...I tried, so hard...but I...I...!"

Placing both hands gently on his cheeks, Sparrow leaned in and kissed him lightly, tears falling from her eyes. The pain she could feel coming from him was heartbreaking; it amazed her that the man was able to stand, let alone speak. His hand met her's, and he returned her kiss, more deeply, a searing need behind his lips. She stood, bringing him up with her as they shared another passionate kiss, her body afire with his presence. She gasped as he lifted her off her feet, carrying her inside the tiny cart. The door closed with a bang as his boot kicked it shut, a small whimper coming from Jack outside.

Reaver sat her gently on the bed, kissing her as his body loomed above her's. Their tongues intertwined for a few wonderful moments, until he pulled away, leaving her breathless. As he worked on undoing his shirt, Sparrow began to unlace the dancer's top that looped around her neck, watching as it crumpled to the ground. She gasped as Reaver returned to her, the hotness of his skin setting her own ablaze, their lips reuniting once more. She bit playfully at his bottom lip, receiving a delightful groan form her effort, and he attacked her with full force. Sparrow fell atop the bed, his tongue diving ever deeper into her mouth, tasting every bit of her. He pulled away once more, looking down into her sparkling blue eyes, and smiled. She returned the expression, grabbing his hair and pulling him back down to her, this time taking control of their tiny bout.

It did not last long, for he began to trace the outline of her jaw with kisses, his tongue gracefully following the fragile bone structure until he came to her breasts. Her breath hitched as he took a swollen bud into his mouth, flicking it every so skillfully with the tip of his tongue. She dug her hands farther into his hair, shuddering as cool fingers found her other nipple, and he teased her between gasps and giggles. His mouth soon switched to the other, though his hand traveled along her navel, then to her thigh, then the hotness inbetween that made her cry out. Her hips arched, causing the skirt to jingle, as his finger stroked her wetness teasingly. She could barely make out the wolfish grin he flashed her in the dark, but she was to weak to care. Instead another moan escaped her as a finger entered her, then another. He was breathing heavily as he stroked her slowly, his need clearly showing through tightening pants. Sparrow felt herself on the edge; she moaned once more, but was cut off by his lips, and they once again entangled each other in a passionate kiss.

She wrapped both arms and legs around him, pulling him closer; she could feel him against her through his pants. She smiled wickedly, finding the clasp to his belt and quickly discarding the troublesome garment. It was his turn to gasp as she undid the ties to his pants, pulling him from their tightness. For a moment she hesitated, wondering if this were the right thing to do. Then that little voice would disappear, and with courage that only alcohol could give she guided him into her, digging the hand which had remained around his shoulder deep into his skin.

She cried out as he drove into her, gently at first but then slowly gaining pace. Pleasure wracked her body, leaving her breathless as she mewled helplessly beneath him, her eyes shut tightly. She could her him moaning just as she, the noises sending her on the brink of insanity, until he leaned down once more a planted kisses along her neck. He nipped her lightly beneath the ear, whispering her name. Crazy. She was going insane. Then she shattered, all rational thought drowned in a sudden storm of ecstacy. She felt something hot spilling into her, his own cry joining her's until she kissed him deeply, her head floating between the clouds. Reaver soon rested atop her, his head between her breasts, both panting and sweaty. His calm, peaceful face was the last thing she saw before sweet sleep took her.


	11. Journey's End

**Secrets**

**By Lindsay R. Honosky**

**Chapter Eleven: Journey's End**

**And so we come to the story's end. I hope this chapter is satisfactory; I'm still not to certain about it. However all things must come to an end, and I'll leave it up to you all to decide if it's worthy, lol. I just want to say thank you, sincerely, to all of you for reading this. It really meant a lot to know you all enjoyed it, and I only hope I don't end up disappointing you. Well, I'll stop talking now; please enjoy and tell me what you think!**

**P.S. Hey Fluffy09, is it alright if I sing your favorite song? :3**

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There was a bag of gold on the table, followed by two pieces of paper. One he knew to be the deed to his old manor, and the other...well, the other he had been reading since he'd awoken. Ah, and such a depressing way to awake this fine evening. It seems his little Sparrow had flown the coop, or so the saying goes, leaving him all that she owed. One would think he should feel elation; utter joy at being reunited with his previously taken belongings. Yet, there was a strange hollowness to him now, a presence he could not put a finger on. In this void there needed something; something he knew not how to obtain. Reaver's eyes glanced over the letter once more, the peculiar feeling growing with each word:

_Reaver,_

_How do I put into words what just happened? I guess one really can't, well, I'm sure you could, but I was never one for waxing such trivialities. Instead, I wanted to wish you well; and tell you I'm sorry. I think I misjudged you, but not in the sense you think. I still despise _Reaver_, the man you think you are. I believe he is the weaker of the two, though when has what I thought ever mattered to Reaver? I hope that, one day, perhaps Reaver might disappear, and then the real you, the strong you, can come and talk to me. Until that time, I've left you a sum of fifteen thousand gold pieces, along with the deed to Bloodstone Manor. I don't carry any delusions that you love me, so please don't think this is a desperate plea for you to come and sweep me off my feet. Anyway, I guess what I really want to say is take care of yourself; why not give something a little less daring a go? You might live longer that way._

_I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough to face you,_

_Sparrow_

"Take care of myself, is it?" Reaver scoffed at the tiny brown parchment, as if it could understand his words, "What would she know about strength? She never met that fool, never knew _his_ weakness! What an idiotic, uneducated, childish thing to think-!" The previous night began flashing before his eyes, the way she danced like fire, the way she laughed as he twirled her to the music, the way her eyes shone with unfallen tears as he told his tale, and the breathless, loving look she had shared with him in passion. Reaver frowned, crushing the letter in his hand, "A weaker man might just run after you, little Sparrow. But I, am not he..." Reaver turned, gathering up his things, and rolled up the deed to the manor. It was going to be a long trip, possibly dangerous, but now that he no longer had to worry about loosing a valuable asset, he could hastily dispose of anyone or thing that walked into his path.

It was cloudy overhead, the sun hidden behind great gray puffs, leaving the world all the dimmer for it. Normally Reaver wouldn't mind this little change in the weather, but he also knew it could mean rain, or snow, and he'd rather not go marching through bogs and such whilst being assaulted from above. Most, if not all the gypsies had retreated into their caravans, save those who ran the tiny shops here and there. Reaver shrugged, made sure the buckle on his holster was unfastened, and went to talk to a man selling garments.

There was an ominous crack of thunder as he approached the man, never-the-less he gave him a warm (if not entirely fake) smile, "Good day, sir! I was wondering if there might be a faster way of getting to Bloodstone than a miles long trek?"

The man, far to old to be considered attractive, looked him up and down while stroking white whiskers, "Oh, yeah, there is. In Bowerstone; but it'll cost you a pretty penny." The old man leaned down, the cracking of his knees disturbingly audible, "Seems you got that covered. Well then, I guess that means you'll be leaving us, eh?"

"That's a rather forward question," Reaver smirked, "do I bother you with my presence?"

"Not me, necessarily, but a few of the men here would like you gone. That pretty face of your's is starting to cause trouble, so I suggest you leave."

Reaver imagined how easy it would be just to wipe this tiny hovel from all the maps in Albion, but instead turned anyway, "Very well; as you wish. I'm in no mood for such sport anyway." If the old man said anything else, it was lost in the sudden downpour that drenched him to his bones. Cursing under his breath, Reaver began a fury-fueled sprint, hoping Bowerstone had indeed turned more hospitable than his last visit.

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Rain. It seemed appropriate, given her mood. Sparrow watched as husbands hurried home from work, wives standing at doorways with worried looks, and happy, laughing children splashing around in newly formed puddles. There in the center of the town was the old Clock Tower, where a few of Bowerstone's citizens took cover from the downpour. Curious, she walked up to a rather portly man with the most grand mustache she had ever seen, and smiled, "Why are you people under the tower? Wouldn't it be warmer inside the pub?"

"Eh? Don't you know?" He gave her a squinted look, as if their closeness made no difference.

She laughed slightly, scratching the back of her ear with a finger, "I've been gone...for a while."

A wiry man standing next to him jabbed his elbow into the man's big belly, scowling, "You idiot! Don't you know who you're talking to?" Shoving the fat man aside, the wiry man took his hat off and bowed, "My Lady Sparrow, it is good to see you are well."

"I..." She lowered her voice to a whisper, "I'd rather you not call me that, please."

The portly man laughed, "Now I've heard everything! A noble claiming they don't want to be nobility! Ain't you supposed to be Queen by now?"

Sparrow shot the man a look that sent many bandits running, "Hold your tongue, fool, or I'll take it."

"I'm sorry, my lady, he gets this way when...intoxicated." Said the smaller man, bowing once more.

Sparrow sighed, "No, no, I'm sorry. Rain...is terrible for my moods." Along with her head; she could feel the pressure building even as she spoke. Rubbing her eyes, she asked the men once more, "Why are you not in the pub?"

"It's full up with farmers from Oakfield. They came in just yesterday, what with their harvest being over and all."

"Oh?" Sparrow saw the chance to lighten up the conversation, "Was it good for them?"

"Oh aye, bloody great! Those farmers are leeches, if you ask me," the fat man went on ranting, "did you know they want two gold piece for a _cold_ meat pie? I understand they had a long walk, but still; _two gold!_?"

She gave him a bemused smile, "Yes, those thieves. What's such a long walk, through monster infested forests and bandit run cliffs? It's not as if they're risking their lives to feed this city."

"Well I..." The fat man removed his hat, wringing it in his hands, "I didn't think about it that way, m'lady. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me," she said with a smile, "just keep that in mind the next time you visit one of their stalls."

The wiry man stood straight, "We will, Your Majes-"

Sparrow held up her hand, face tired, "Sparrow will do, please."

She was turning to walk away when she heard the fat man ask, "Aren't you a bit old to be calling yourself 'Sparrow'?"

"I wasn't aware one could out-grow their name." She didn't look back, instead she headed down to the docks, hoping to find the sands beneath the Bowerstone Bridge were less drenched as she was.

The sounds of her boots were muffled by the rain, though the throbbing in her ears seemed to grow ever louder. She looked up at the sky in annoyance, wondering if it were possible to change the weather with her Will. Then those thoughts would leave her feeling more drained than the rain, so she put her eyes back to earth, and what she saw almost stopped her heart. It was that same man that had sold her that cursed snow globe, the same man that...had sold them the music box. Memories of that seemingly ordinary day came flashing before her eyes; laughing breathlessly as she and Rose chased down runaway fliers, the two of them posing for Barnum's wonder machine, almost being caught by that silly drunk who'd stolen from another silly drunk, shooting the beetles in the warehouse, and finding Jack after beating up some punk who'd punched Rose for trying to stop him from hurting the dog. Then she would remember the hope in her sister's voice, how happy her face was while walking through Fairfax Castle, her final scream before the gunshot, and then pain. Searing, unbearable pain; both physical and emotional.

Sparrow prayed the rain would hide her tears. Jack, who was previously digging in the mud, now came to his mistress's side and began whining. She let go of the breath she was holding, ashamed at how shaky it rattled from her lips. Patting the dog's head, she asked, "Well boy, want to see what old Murgo has in store for us now?" He gave her an encouraging bark, and Sparrow arched an eyebrow, "I swear you act more human than I do sometimes." Her only answer was a cocked head, and she sighed, stepping carefully along the rain-soaked docks that were shadowed by Bowerstone's buildings.

She was amazed at how Murgo seemed never to age. Then again, she told herself she'd rather not think of men who don't age, and instead walked up to the caravan with a wary smile, "Murgo."

The orange hair and gotee looked red in the tiny lantern light, his purple suit taking on a more blackish mood. Never-the-less, the man turned and gave her a warm smile, clapping his hands together, "Ah, if it isn't my favowite customewr! I've got something that might intewrest you!"

She arched an eyebrow, "It's not another cursed snow globe, is it? No golden skull with a necromancer hidden away inside?"

There was a nervous look in his brown eyes, "Uh, no, nothing of the sort! Hewer, take a look!" Before Sparrow could even tell what he was doing the man had pulled out a tiny figure of black metal, the small blue highlights hauntingly accurate to its model.

"Murgo...where did you get this?"

"Let's just say a friend left it fowr me," he said with a wink.

"Why would any friend of mine leave me a model of the Spire, Murgo?" She asked, her words sounding less heated and more tired as her headache only worsened.

The man practically shoved the object into her hands, "Look, and you'll find out."

"But I don't-!" Before her words could even reach him, she was surrounded by a blinding, searing light that hurt her eyes. She might have screamed, she might have not; in this moment she couldn't tell. Whatever was happening felt very different to her travels through the other cursed objects, yet still familiar. It took her a moment to realize where she had felt such sensations, and when came her clarity so came her vision.

She stood along the stone walkway high atop the Spire, a figure robed in red standing in the center. The very center where Lucien once stood. Even from where she stood, she could see a smile spread across the eternal woman's face, her arms outstretched, "Sparrow."

"Thereasa? H-how?" She stumbled, lost in her disbelief.

"I would have thought you would have learned by now not to question me, little Sparrow." Her smile only grew wider.

"Am I...I'm in the Spire again, aren't I?"

"Yes, though you have nothing to fear. I have brought you here for a reason, for there is something you must see."

Sparrow, finally regaining herself, crossed her arms and smiled, "I guess the reason is never going to be just a quick hello, is it?"

Thereasa tilted her head, "Know that I am never far from you, my precious Sparrow..." The old fortune teller rose her arms, the air around her shimmering with an ancient power. Lines of all colors began to swirl around her, until a vortex of white light consumed her. It spread further, and soon Sparrow once again flew through the neitherworld, her body seeming to be separate from her soul.

Once she regained consciousness she found herself in a black room, a single spotlight upon what looked to be a lavish throne adorned with red velvet and gold inlay. After looking over her person she found herself garbed in the finest of clothes; a white fur-lined blouse with a gold chest piece around it, a lavish skirt that looked to her like a cloud. Most of the gown was blue, save for the white highlights, and she felt utterly ridiculous. She frowned at the chair before her, as if it could sense her disapproval, "Thereasa, I do not wish for this..."

_It is not for you to decide what you wish for or not. This is your fate, and it has already begun._

The room began to grow, and from the throne she could see line after line of soldiers, all saluting her as she walked past them. Sparrow looked each one in the face, "Thereasa, enough of this."

_These are your soldiers. Loyal men who will gladly fight for you, and proudly die for you. Do not insult them by selfish want of freedom. This is your destiny._

She ended her journey through the ghost army to be met by a crowd of cheering people, all of home either bowed or curtsied to her. A blush grew on her face; she knew not if it were from embarrassment or anger. She sprinted down the aisle, trying to escape this vision but to no avail. She could hear Thereasa's haunting words as she ran, _These are your adoring subjects, whom love you. Do not flee from them, for they will need you; all of you, in time. You are the one who will unite them and lead them to a glorious revolution._

"Leave me be, Thereasa!" Sparrow ran and ran until breathless, surrounded by darkness once more. Sure that she would soon wake from this nightmare, Sparrow stopped to catch her breath. There she found Thereasa, who stood next to a tiny crib. Sparrow's hand involuntarily went to her stomach, "You don't mean..."

Thereasa shook her head, "No, this child will not come of your..._encounter_ with Reaver." The distaste in her voice stung Sparrow, and shame filled her. However if the old seeress wished to say more, she refrained, instead she motioned towards the crib, "This is the reason why I have shown you this; the reason why you _needed_ to see this. In time, the fate of Albion will rest in this child's hands, along with that of Aurora."

"Aurora? What is Aurora?" Sparrow crossed her arms, anger rising, "And why are you telling this to me now?"

"If I had told you any sooner you would not have gone through all the trouble of buying those houses, nor running those businesses." There was an annoying hint of smugness to her words, and Sparrow bit back a few choice words of her own. Thereasa turned fully to the babe that was there and not, a smile crossing her face, "Do not fear the future, little Sparrow; your life will be a happy one, of that I can assure you."

"I don't suppose you'll tell me who this child's father is, will you?"

"I cannot, for fate has a funny way of hiding such things. I can say, however, boy you and the babe's father will long have perished by the time this child will be needed. You must do all you can now to assist it in this fight, for it will be grave. And before you ask, no, I cannot tell you the outcome either, for it is in the hands of one yet to be born."

"What would you have me do, then?"

"Build, prosper, and prepare. You shall do these things, of that have no doubt, and do not worry, dear Sparrow," the world began to fade, and she felt herself drifting off to sleep, "I am always here, watching you." Her warm farewell was the last thing Sparrow heard before fully drifting off to sleep, a smile gracing her lips as a single tear ran down her cheek.

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The back of her neck was warm, and she could tell that her back was lifted off the ground, yet the rain still pelted her face, cool against the throbbing heat inside her head. Sparrow groaned, her legs feeling weak and useless. There was what felt like an arm wrapped around her waist, and she could only guess that was what also kept the back of her neck warm. She was content with keeping her eyes closed until she heard a familiar chuckle, "We really must stop meeting like this."

Despite the pain Sparrow's eyes shot open, and she found herself staring into the eyes of a man she hoped not to see for a long time, "Reaver...?"

"Of course," his smile seemed muted, his words distant, "I can't help but wonder what on earth you're doing laying around, in the rain, by the docks of all places."

Sparrow closed her eyes, sighing, "I...had a visit with an old friend."

"I see." His face grew more grave, "If I'm not mistaken, I believe you're being afflicted by one of your migraines, no?" He frowned as she shook her head weakly, "Well then, I believe we should get you to your castle, post haste."

She began to struggle, "No, Reaver, please..."

"If you are feeling some sort of shame or embarrassment about what happened last night, by all means forget it ever happened. In fact, I would rather prefer you did, what with my slight moment of weakness." He lifted her from the ground, no longer looking at her face.

Sparrow grumbled, her head buried in his chest, "Are you talking about your performance? Or what you told me to get into my pants?"

He laughed, however it seemed strained, "I know you're lying about the first, my dear. I've had more years than you've lived to practice that art. And I do not need your pity to 'get into your pants', as you put it." She could see his face darkening, "I had rather hoped you would have forgotten what I divulged to you last night."

"Sorry I wasn't drunk enough, then."

"No, no, the fault is mine. I should have just shot you."

She laughed weakly, "Sorry I'm still alive."

His smile returned, "As am I."

They were silent as he carried her up the cobblestone hill, few people taking notice of them as they fled from the rain. Mud ran down the streets along the storm drains, tiny waterfalls falling form the roofs of houses as mothers gathered their children and locked up their doors for the night. Soon all of Bowerstone looked like a shimmering night sky, reflected upon a serene river. The air grew colder, and Reaver quickened his pace, finally passing the metal gates that would lead into Fairfax Gardens.

The place was virtually empty, save the few guards that patrolled even in such horrid weather. One shot him a strange look, then continued on his march, ignoring the two newcomers. He looked to his left to see yet another statue of Sparrow, standing in the middle of a simple fountain. He laughed to himself, wondering what in the world possessed the woman in his arms to pose in such a silly dance. Reaver continued down the paved walkway, frowning as his boots began to grow damp.

It wasn't long before he reached the main door of the castle, the title standing on a post next to him. He looked down at Sparrow, her eyes clenched shut in pain. He shrugged, then lifted his foot and kicked in the door; she could fix the damage tomorrow, when he was well away. The noise echoed down the stone halls, his foosteps muffled by the red carpet that lay beneath him. He was amazed at how dusty and deserted this place looked; he had heard Lucien had all but abandoned his humble abode, however he would have thought at least a few servants would have stayed behind in case he returned. Scanning the rooms he found next to no one, save a few scurrying mice from a larder yet to be cleaned out. There was little to no light as Reaver fought to find his way about the empty castle, cursing as he stumbled on a small lump along the carpet.

It seemed to take hours for him to find the main bed room, and with a relieved sigh he placed a sleeping Sparrow upon a rather dusty mattress. She began to toss and turn, a nightmare apparently playing out behind closed eyes. Reaver sat beside her, watching her for a moment. After a while he took her hand in his, stroking it lightly with his thumb, "My mind is telling me it is no longer safe for you to remain living, but I can not bring myself to end you. I...I can't do what it is you ask of me...I'm sorry. To do so would mean the end of me, and I am not yet ready to face that. I'm not," he rubbed his eyes, feeling all those years that had caught up around him, "I'm not strong enough yet. Perhaps one day, another time? But for now, I think it best if I leave..." He looked at her once more, gently stroking her forehead in an attempt to soothe the pain she must feel, "However, know I will return. And with it, you have my friendship, my dear, dear Sparrow." For a moment her brows became unfurrowed, and a smile came to her lips. Reaver stood, tearing his eyes from her as he headed for the door, closing it gently behind him.

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The months that passed seemed like years to her; there was so much to do. The castle was still in the midst of being remodeled, and there was always someone who wanted to break in and see what they could steal. Of course, Sparrow was quick to dispatch of any would-be intruders, though she rarely ended up killing them anymore. Most were just beggars who'd gone over the edge, and only needed an honest job. She had given them that, what with the construction of the castle being needed, along with a few renovations for the entirety of Bowerstone. Truthfully, she was amazed at the progress she had made thus far, meeting with the leaders of different towns, coming up with treaties for waring tribes, setting up a gigantic library a ways by Oakfield. In truth, she held no delusion that it would come to fruition, seeing as the common folk would rather work for a penny than invest precious time reading and learning, but she hoped soon their children might utilize the facility.

It surprised her how naturally the role of ruler came to her, even though she never wished for it. However, the task was much simpler thanks to a young man named Jasper. The sweet lad was barely out of his teens, but he insisted on becoming her butler, even after all her arguing that she need not a care-taker. He would handle all her less important affairs while keeping her room clean and bringing her meals if she wished not to dine with company. She rarely did, spending the time alone reading her small, worn letter from Rose over and over again. She didn't want to admit to herself that she would never be able to find her sister, and even if she did she probably wouldn't do that to her. Rose had come back as Sparrow remembered her; a fifteen-year-old girl with dreams of living in a castle with her little sister, who was no more a little girl. The shock of the truth might harm her more than forever living in a lie.

The prophecy Thereasa foretold never ventured far from her mind, and she worried if she would ever find the father to her destined child. She did so now, sitting along the banister of her balcony, grateful for the warm summer breeze. She was holding a party to celebrate the joining of Brightwood with Oakfield, something she thought would never happen. However she was surprised to see the enterprising town leaders join for the chance to create a single farming community; and with the joining came an abundance of food for all. It also did wonders for her mood that Hammer had written and come for said party, and as she withdrew from her thoughts she noticed the giant red-headed woman coming out to join her.

She looked rather ridiculous in the gown Sparrow had tailored for her, the gentle green silks doing nothing to hide both her girth and muscle. But the way she carried herself with confidence, along with a beaming smile, made her a hit with a few of the gentlemen attending the ball. Hammer smiled as she found her, coming to rest her arms upon the banister next to Sparrow, "I was wondering where you ran off to."

"I never did like crowds."

"That explains all that bragging after the Crucible, doesn't it?"

Sparrow shrugged, "Are you still angry that you couldn't do it? I told you to let me do all the talking."

"Right, because it's always my big mouth that gets us into trouble."

"Exactly." The women shared a laugh, the happy sound echoing down into the gardens.

The two were silent for a while, the sounds of the music flowing from behind the stained glass windows. Stars lit up a pristine sky, tiny wisps of clouds gracefully wrapping themselves around a full moon. Sparrow smiled, taking in a deep breath, "It's a wonderful night."

"Aye, you got that right." A smile brightened her friend's face, and she was nearly jumping on her toes, "Oh! You'll never guess who I bumped into along Bandit Coast?"

Sparrow raised an eyebrow, "I can guess by the way you're bouncing."

"Well if you know already, I guess I don't have to tell you."

Sparrow laughed, "No no! Please, by all means."

Hammer returned her laughed, though she did stop her bouncing, "Well, as you may have guessed, it was our old friend Garth. He's back from Samarkand, and apparently overjoyed that you managed to rid him of that dreadful Chesty fellow." She looked slightly confused, crossing big arms, "Might I ask who that is?"

"Don't worry about it; it involves magic and all sorts of difficult things to understand." She wore a taunting smirk on her face, and received quite a strong punch to the leg for it, "Ow! Watch it! For a monk you've got an awfully bad temper."

"And for a queen you've got an awfully rude mouth!"

Sparrow's smile seemed more spiteful than warm, "Hmph, if only I had a gold coin for ever time I heard that. Why, the treasury would be overflowing with gold!"

"I heard about what happened with the chief of Silverpines. You were in the right, there; you can't send out soldiers to fight a seemingly endless wave of abominations."

"If only I knew where they were coming from...You know, I hate to admit it, but their seems to be an abundance of monsters lately, don't you think? Shadow creatures have been seen coming out of the swamps in Wraith's Marsh, Hollow Men have practically taken over the graveyards, and Hobbes..." she paused, frowning, "there are so many of them. I can't imagine where those damned Sprites are getting all those children."

"You can't save them all, Sparrow."

"But I have to try! I'm their Queen, Hammer, not just their Hero. If I don't protect them, who will?"

Hammer frowned, twirling a strand of red hair around a finger, "Well, if you ask me, I believe all this trouble is coming from that Shadow Court. It wouldn't take that much to just destroy that dreadful place. And there's even an added bonus to getting rid of it!" There was a dangerous smile on her friend's face as she said this.

Sparrow shook her head, her eyes growing distant, "I...I can't. Not that place."

Hammer sighed, "What is it with you? If I so much as _mention_ anything related to that..._thing_, you go all silent and moody. What happened between you two?"

"Nothing!" Sparrow shot straight as an arrow, "Nothing at all. In fact, so little happened that I don't feel like continuing this conversation." She jumped from the banister, her heels clicking on the stone walkway.

Hammer grabbed her arm, the appendage looking like a child's in the big woman's hand, "Please, Sparrow; you can trust me. What did he do to you."

"He didn't...! Damn it!" Her eyes grew misty, and with her free hand she wiped away the tears before they could fall. Unable to meet her friend's eyes, Sparrow simply looked to her feet for answers. When none came, she sighed in defeat, "He isn't as bad as you think, Hammer. Well, maybe he is, but there is more to him than he wants people to see. The fact that I'm still breathing is a testament."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Hammer raised an eyebrow, releasing her friend's arm.

Sparrow simply shook her head, "It means nothing." She rose a finger to her lips and winked, "I'm sworn to secrecy, I'm afraid."

The two women began walking back towards the ballroom, passing a few nobles who were far to drunk for their own good. Before they entered back into the noisy, heated room, Hammer asked, "So, do you love him?"

The corner of her mouth rose slighly, a sad look in her eye, "Honestly, I don't know. I care for him, and I constantly worry if he yet still breathes. But it's rather difficult to love a man buried in secrets." Sparrow looked to her friend, smiling sweetly, and then entered the ballroom, dancing and twirling 'til the morning came.

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**And so this story ends. There will be an epilogue after this chapter for my next story, based in Fable 3. I want to thank all the wonderful people who stayed with me through the entirety of my little tale, and I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you.**

**Until we meet again~**

**Lindsay R. Honosky  
**


	12. Epilogue:  A Familiar Face

**Secrets**

**By Lindsay R. Honosky**

**Epilogue: A Familiar Face**

**Holy crap two chapters (sorta) in one night? What's wrong with me? Anyway, this is sort of an intro into my next story, which I should have up pretty soon, what with this fire under my butt and all. I hope you all read it; I would love you all forever~ lol Please tell me what you think, even if it's to stop the madness of my next story before it even begins!**

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"Come along now, Hatch; please do not tarry." His boots clicked pleasantly on the newly paved courtyard, his trained eye admiring the near perfect symmetry with which it had been crafted. The castle walls encompassed him, keeping the area blessedly cool from the torturing summer sun. Reaver removed custom-made goggles from contact colored eyes, both devices of his own make, as he looked upon the ever white castle. It seemed larger than he remembered, and far less abandoned, as people from all walks of life came in and out of the imposing fortress; an array of colors that would truly dazzle the eye.

The young man who was now in is employment came running up from behind, the rather large white box seeming to impede the boy's progress, "I...I'm twying, Mastah Weavah!" Reaver laughed as he caught the boy eying a particularly well endowed young woman who sauntered past him.

Reaver clicked his tongue, "Barry, do behave while we visit Her Majesty. I'd rather not beat you senseless before her gentle eyes."

"Ye-yes, Mastah Weavah, of couwse."

"And do work on that speach impediment as well," Reaver crinkled his nose, "it is rather endearing, however in the presence of royalty one must be at their best."

"B-but Mastah Weavah, I can't-!"

"Then remain silent; I had no illusions you would say much anyway." Reaver began to ascend the stairs that would lead into the entrance hall, receiving a few hateful looks from those who knew him not. And who would, what with his new look. He decided to go back to his natural color; though his raven locks were mostly hidden by a rather tall top hat, his goggles now resting along the lip of said hat. His usual reds and golds were now replaced by whites and blacks, a brown vest the only color breaking the muted pattern. No longer did he wear his beloved goatee; the look was running a bit long in the tooth. Instead he decided to tattoo a small black heart where his mole used to be, a small joke to a particular man who did not appreciate being thrown from Reaver's bed.

The years had been strange, of that he would tell anyone. The once rag-tag groups of small hamlets now turned into a bustling society, and Bowerstone had simply blossomed into a powerful metropolis. He knew their Hero Queen took credit for most of the changes, however if it wasn't for his keen mind and eye for machinery, the industrial quarter would never have been created. True, it wasn't as illustrious as he'd hoped, as the Queen had yet to grant him an audience to discuss certain methods that would allow for further growth, but that would all end today. Or at least, he hoped it would. A smile crinkled the small heart under his eye as a smile came unbidden to his face; there was more than business he would like to discuss with the monarch.

They were stopped by a pair of soldiers who stood at the base of a grand staircase that lead to the upper floors of the palace. Reaver smiled arrogantly, leaning on his custom-made cane, "Good day, gentlemen! Might I say you look rather dashing in those uniforms."

The guards were clearly uncomfortable, which only made Reaver smile wider. One of them coughed, "State your name and business."

"My name is Reaver, and I am here to discuss just that."

"Master Reaver?" From atop the stairway Reaver found a rather skinny looking fellow with graying black hair tied back in a rather charming bow. He was holding a silver tray, yet no tea pot with cups adorned it. Instead there lay a small wooden sword, the poor thing looking rather dinged up. He wore what one would assume a butler would wear, and by his demenor he was most certainly that, "Mister Sampson, you may let them pass. Her Majesty is expecting them."

"Of course, Jasper." The soldier said, stepping aside. Both of them shot Reaver suspicious looks, and even more suspicious looks at the box which Barry carried.

Once atop the stairs Reaver smiled down at the rather tiny man, "I assume by what the rather dashing young fellow said, you are to be called Jasper?"

"One simply falls in awe at your amazing wit, sir." The butler turned, apparently comfortable in his Queen's protection.

Reaver saw Barry's face twitch, and he held up a gloved hand, "Remember what I told you, Hatch." The boy said nothing; instead he followed along quietly as they were led back down the stairs and through a study, then the kitchens, and finally out into a handsome garden that was in full, lush green glory. Reaver grumbled as the sun hit his eyes, everything seeming to go a bit brown thanks to his contacts. He quickly put those goggles back over his eyes, the world seeming to return to its natural hues and shades.

Jasper lead them down a set of stairs and to the left, where a rather nice gazebo stood, surrounded by finely shaped shrubbery. There Reaver saw a face he thought he would never see again. It had aged, make no mistake, but still held that natural beauty that he had admired since their first meeting. Chestnut hair had small strands of gray running through it, and as she turned her head they shimmered like tiny veins of silver. As he suspected, her attire was rather plain, though still regal; a simple silken blouse with a long, robin egg blue skirt that went down to her ankles. Her blue eyes were buried in a book of some sort, and he smiled as the familiar wrinkles of her thinking face met between well-sculpted eyebrows.

Jasper stopped, put his feet together, and with his free hand coughed, "Your Majesty, your guests have arrived."

"Huh?" She raised her eyes from her pages, and as soon as they met Reaver's own confusion spread across her face. For a moment he though she wouldn't recognize him, then a small smile appeared on her delicate face, and she said, "Reaver."

He bowed deeply, amazed that his hat stayed in place, "Your Majesty. It has been to long."

She stood and began to walk towards them, "Please, Sparrow will do for you. And hello to you as well, Mr.-?"

"Hatch, my lady. Bawwy Hatch." The blush that bloomed on the young man's face was so red it almost matched his hair.

Sparrow smiled, "Well met." Her eyes traveled to the contents her butler was holding, and her smile soon faded, "I take it that firebrand of a daughter of mine is in trouble again?"

"Sir Walter is dealing with it as we speak."

"Who was her victim this time?" Sparrow asked, crossing her arms.

"A crow, believe it or not. She's quite fast, if I do say so myself."

She shook her head, perfect curls dancing about her shoulders, "What am I going to do with that girl?"

Reaver smirked, "That didn't sound to distressed, my dear."

A playful smile crossed the Queen's lips, "Nor was it supposed to. You would be amazed at her sheer talent, Reaver. I'm quite proud of the little rascal, though my advisers say I'm not turning her into a _proper_ lady."

Jasper laughed, "Who's to judge what is proper or not. Now, if you'll excuse me, I will go find your children so they may begin their lessons."

"It was nice meeting you, Jasper. Thank you for reuniting me with my old friend," Reaver gave him a teasing glance, and laughed as the old man walked away rather uncomfortably.

When his eyes returned to Sparrows he laughed once more at the look on her face. She rubbed her eyes, her wedding band shining in the sunlight, "Please do not tease my friends. I'd rather they stay around."

"I'm sure it would take more than my flirting to drive away such bosom companions." He motioned to the bench Sparrow had previously occupied, "Shall we?"

"By all means." She smiled, letting him take her arm and guide her to the bench, Barry following close behind. She held her skirt as she sat back down, turning a critical eye towards his face, "You look...younger. Do I want to know?"

"Why, I believe you already do, so I shall not ruin this sunny day with the shadows of such dreary explanations. However, I must say you have aged rather gracefully."

"I don't know if I should take that as a compliment or punch your smiling face, dear Reaver."

"Both would be acceptable, little Sparrow." His smile waned slightly as his eyes drifted to the crypt that now sat in the middle of the grand garden, "I am sorry about your loss. I would have come sooner, however I've heard rumors that I'm not well received by some of your underlings."

This time she did hit him, "I would prefer you call them my friends, thank you."

"Careful dear; you wouldn't want to crack a bone at your age. Rather hard to bounce back from such trauma."

She laughed, covering her mouth as she did so. Catching her breath, she asked, "So what is it that you want, Reaver? I've already given you permission to start building your factories, _and_ I even allowed you to build that awfully gaudy mansion next to Bower Lake. To which, I must add, I thank you. Seems your presence has inspired some of the less tolerable nobles to buy up that land and build mansions of their own."

"My dear, have you ever considered shotgun diplomacy?"

"I do, however at each meeting I find my gun strangely empty of ammunition."

Reaver smiled, "You have good friends indeed."

"Yes," she closed her eyes, leaning back against the bench, "I do."

The sound of a child's laughter floated down from above the hill, and in the distance Reaver could make out a tiny little girl with chestnut hair, racing down the steps. Behind her was a young man with raven black hair, a smile visible even from their vantage-point, following the younger girl. Standing next to him was a middle-aged man with thick brown hair, and an even thicker mustache and beard combo that hid most of his face. Reaver tapped his cane on the ground, "Barry, do be a dear and dispense of our package."

"Huh? Oh, yes! Mastah Weavah, wight away!" The boy practically ran from their view, an amused smile spreading ever wider on Reaver's face.

Sparrow raised an eyebrow, "Should I be worried?"

"My dear, when have I ever given you cause for worry."

"A few examples come to mind."

"Of course. Then set your mind at ease, my beloved Queen, and look upon what I bring." He motioned his cane with a flourish towards his servant, who was now breathless and bending over in front of a very confused yet excited little girl. Annoyed, Reaver shouted, "Oh Barry! Please stop scaring the child and give her the box!"

The young man shot up, looked at him, then back at the little girl, who had now crossed her arms and began tapping her foot. Tiny pigtails stuck out behind her ears, a single blue headband holding what hair it could in place. There was dirt all over the hem of her blue dress, and from what he could tell from here she was missing a shoe. The tiny face became alit with wonder as the big white box exited Barry's hand and entered her own, the young man with black hair joining them. Sparrow and Reaver could hear her excited intake of breath as the girl opened the lid, staring down into its contents. She looked up at Barry and said something neither could hear, but Reaver assumed she asked who had brought her the gift, as Barry's finger soon pointed towards his person. The little girl's eyes were practically beaming as she looked at him, then they returned to the inside of the box, her arms disappearing behind its walls.

When they came back into view a small black and white bundle occupied them, the tiny head furiously licking her face. She giggled, the small puppy barking and whining in her arms. In an instant the tiny girl and her burden stood before him, smiling to the point of tears, "Oh...oh thank you, mister! Thank you so much!"

"Of course, my dear. Now, do enjoy him."

The girl looked confused, as if she were forgetting something. Then realization came to her face, and she put the puppy down and curtsied, "I thank you as princess of Albion. May I ask your name?"

Reaver laughed, clearly amused, "Why, dear girl, you may call me Reaver. May I ask the same?"

She looked to her mother, who nodded, "I am Lilith; a pleasure to meet you." Her eyes once again went to her mother, who was now petting the tiny, furry thing at her feet, "Can I go now? Walter's going to tell us about the time you fought all those balverines!"

"Of course, sweetheart, have fun." She smiled as she watched her daughter racing off, the puppy at her heels. Once she was well out of earshot, Sparrow elbowed Reaver, "A dog, eh? I hope you're not thinking of turning my daughter into an adventure."

"One who poses for statues in a flirtatious matter? Why, my dear Sparrow, do you take me for some sort of deviant." He gave her his most devilish grin.

She returned it with one of her own, "I'll have you know her brother is most protective of his dear little sister. I'd watch yourself in the future."

"Duly noted." His eyes drifted back to the happy scene that was the children sitting down before the old soldier, both enraptured by the tale he was weaving. Reaver crossed his legs, "They are beautiful, your children. I am happy for you."

"So am I...Reaver," her voice changed from its lighthearted chime to a more dire note, "there is a reason why I called you here."

"And here I was hoping you were dying for a night of raw passion, 'til we both lay panting from the ravishing throws of our love making."

She laughed, though the sadness didn't leave her voice, "Reaver...I'm...not long, for this world. I can feel it as sure as I can feel the wind upon my face." She held up her hand, stopping him before he could comment, "I know I do not seem like it, but I know this to be true. I'm nearly eighty, Reaver; even Heroes grow old eventually." She smiled slightly, "Well, most of us, anyway."

He frowned, eyes hidden behind the lenses of his goggles, "I would offer a solution, yet before I even said it I know you would refuse."

"Yes," she laughed, "you are quite right. However, I would appreciate a favor, if you are willing to give one."

"Ask, my dear Sparrow, and it shall be done."

"I know my children will never be alone, what with Jasper and Walter here to look after them, but they won't be around forever. Not like you, at any rate. So I ask you; please, look after them? I'm not asking for a babysitter, so please don't expect I want you to move in and play nanny, just be there for them when..." Her eyes hardened, "When the time comes."

"And what time will that be?"

"You'll know when it happens," she said with a haunting smile.

They were silent for a time, both watching as the children oohed and awed at tales long ago, a small laugh escaping Sparrow as she saw Reaver's servant doing nearly the same. After a while the story ended, and the young girl had seemed to drift off to sleep. Her brother seemed to sigh, then placed the tiny thing upon his back, following the old soldier to a room up the stairs. Reaver motioned for Barry to stay where he was as he turned his head to Sparrow and smiled, "There is another gift I bring. One for you." She watched him curiously as he reached into his pocket and produced a tiny, worn piece of paper.

As it entered Sparrow's hands she looked down at it with tears in her eyes, "Oh my...where...?" Sparkling eyes met his, "Where did you find this?"

"On one of my expeditions, though I'd rather not say where I found it. Hunting it down was one of the reasons for my delay, but once I heard of its existence I simply had to find it-!"

He was cut off as her arms wrapped around him, poorly hidden sobs lacing her words, "Thank you...thank you so much, Reaver."

Regaining himself, Reaver patted her back, "Now now, my dear, what will your subjects say if they see you hugging such a dashing young man."

She kissed his cheek, tears falling down her own, "I had thought this lost forever. What with Barnum being dead," she eyed him flatly for a moment, "no thanks to you, I might add, I thought this picture lost forever."

He stood then, smiling, "Well, lost it is no more, and I believe it will receive more appreciation in your hands. Now, on that note, my dear little Sparrow, I bid you adue. A wealthy businessman like myself has to many affairs to be dallying about in a royal garden," he winked, "no matter how pleasing the company."

"Of course," she returned his smile, holding the picture to her heart, "take care, Reaver. And do refrain from shooting anyone on your way out; I'd hate to have to arrest you."

As Barry rejoined him Reaver only winked and laughed, "You could try, my dear Sparrow." He started to walk away, waving, "You'd fail, but you can try."

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**Me: Aw, that was cute.  
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**Reaver: What utter rubbish. I would never act like that.**

**Me: Uh-huh. I bet under that flamboyant, phycotic exterior you're a real softy. *Starts poking the bear***

**Reaver: My dear, be glad I wish to see your next story, least that cute face of yours be riddled by bullets.**

**Me: Cute? Just cute? I'm damn sexy!**

**Reaver: Truly? Then perhaps you'd like to attend one of my private parties?**

**Me: I-I gotta go! BUBAAAAAAAI~  
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